Fire and Brimstone
by War Journalist
Summary: It's December 2008. When a wave of powerful psychomancy rips through Chicago, it's up to Harry Dresden, resident wizard, to find out what's going on in his city. Meanwhile Hellboy, the monster-fighting ex-BPRD agent is pulled out of his seven-year retirement to investigate the same blast.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The world's a strange place. War, famine, tectonic plates, electric toothbrushes. The strangest things surround us every day. We see it, and just lump it into the baseline we call 'normal.' Some things just show up as a product of the times and get labeled 'progress.' Older things, like the tectonic plates, are filed under 'old news.' And sometimes we forget the classic stuff. We forget how things used to be, in favor of how things are. Ideas change, so the world changes.

Or so some people think.

But there are forces out there older than humanity itself that play around in plain sight. Things that nobody notices. And if they do notice, it's written off; buried. Things like magic. And I'm here to tell you, the world is a lot stranger than you think. My name is Harry Dresden, and I'm a wizard. Conjure by it at your own risk.

Beneath my heavy blankets in my basement apartment, I, the savior of Chicago many times over from nightmares, necromancers, vampires, and fallen angels, slept. In my profession a good night's sleep is hard to come by, so I savor them as much as I can.

A slow whine began to stir me from my dreams. But on a freezing Winter day, nobody wants to wake up when they should, so I tried to ignore it; block it out. But it quickly persisted and intensified until it was a shrill screech echoing inside my head. I bolted upright, clamping my hands to my temples. I looked over to my Mickey Mouse alarm clock, expecting it to be finally exploding after being around magic for so long. But I saw that it was not nearly nine-o-clock, nor was the buzzer going off. But before I could process this, the screech turned into a full deafening scream. I clamped my eyes shut as the sound dug into my brain like hot needles, forcing out a roar of my own.

Wizard's don't scream. It's bad for the image.

I felt the world spinning around me, and my legs tangling in my blanket as the sound continued. But rather than the hard concrete floor bashing my skull in, as I expected, I felt the warm shaggy body of a miniature anklosaurus come beneath me. I opened my eyes to see my dog, Mouse, laying under me like a rug. A concerned look passed through his eyes, and he licked my face until the scream died away. When I felt comfortable enough to remove my hands from my head, I placed one around his neck and scratched behind his ears. "Good boy" I whispered to him. A great big doggy grin covered his face.

Slowly I began to reorient myself, untangling from my blankets and climbing, with a little help, back into my bed. I sat up, placed my face in my hands and wished for the world's biggest aspirin. "Hell's Bells" I breathed aloud. "What was that?"

As a wizard, I'd come into contact with a lot of nasty things. The kind of things that went bump in the night, and the things that bumped _them_. And as a wizard, I'd seen my fair share of magic. Curses, hexes, spells, enchantments, you name it. And as I sorted my thoughts through the pain echoing around the inside of my skull, I decided that whatever that was had to be some kind of psychomancy. The kind of magic that works on the mind. It's a nasty, invasive kind of magic that violates one of the Laws of Magic. And the White Council, the governing body of the wizarding world, is particularly keen on playing guillotine with anyone who uses it. And as my thoughts cleared, they gathered around the one person I knew that specialized in psychomancy: my apprentice, Molly Carpenter.

You see, two years before, I found out she'd been using psychomancy to free her friends from drug addiction. While noble, it was also pretty stupid, and affected their minds a lot more than she had intended. The White Council, showed up. And trust me, when they find reason enough to come out of their hole in the ground, they leave a mess behind. I stepped in and vouched for her, being the stand-up guy that I am. Thankfully they bought it, but they saddled me with making sure she didn't put another magical toe out of line. Otherwise we'd both be killed on the spot.

A cheery group, the White Council.

As I considered whether or not Molly could have been involved with this particular headache (her apprenticeship hadn't exactly been easy on either of us), another ringing invaded my ears. I groaned angrily and clamped my hands to my ears. This ringing, though, I recognized immediately. Throwing back the blankets, I stalked out of my bedroom into the darkness of my living room, with Mouse at my heels. And with a muttered _'__Fliccum Biccus__'_ and a mild infusion of will, the candles around me glowed to life.

It was a modest setup. A few rugs of various styles and cultures lay over the cold concrete floor. An original, mint-condition _Star Wars_ poster hung from one of my walls. Half-melted candles sat scattered across the room. A comfy old couch lay in front of a fireplace whose embers had died away the night before. And on a stand next to the couch sat my telephone, probably the most advanced piece of technology in my apartment. Next to the alarm clock, that is.

You see, magic and science don't mix very well. Basically everything produced after World War II breaks down pretty quickly in the presence of magic. The more moving parts it has, the more likely it is to foul up. Which makes it difficult for wizards like myself to use a lot of modern conveniences. Like, for instance, hot water. Streetlights can start exploding if I walk by with a temper. I don't even want to think about what would happen with a gas-powered water heater.

I picked up the noisy telephone and grumbled "Dresden." But what I heard on the other end was the last thing I would have expected on an early winter morning after a fairly calm season. "Harry, thank God!"

Michael Carpenter was one of the burlier, manlier men I'd come across in my lifetime, and the frightened squeak that followed his voice snapped me to immediate attention. "Michael? What is it, what's wrong?" I heard a pained scream in the background, along with a few childlike cries.

"It's Molly! I don't know what's wrong with her, she's..." Another agonized cry carried over the line. "Harry, come quickly, _please!_"

The ache in my mind was put on hold instantly, and I didn't bother to say a word before snapping the receiver back down. I hopped into a set of clothes, threw on my duster, and stuffed my usual items from the basket beside my door into my pockets. And in precisely three seconds flat, I'd charged through my stubborn steel-plated siege door and urged my car up to full speed down the streets of early-morning Chicago.

I may be a poor wizard living in a hole-in-the-ground apartment, driving a beat-up little Volkswagon and completely deprived of the nicer things in life, but I'd be damned if I'd let anything happen to my friends.

Michael Carpenter and I had been (almost literally) through Hell and back together. If he wasn't a friend, I wouldn't know what one was. He was one of the three Knights of the Cross, and as such carried one of the three legendary swords whose blades were forged from the capital-C Crucifixion nails. He'd fought the forces of evil on a regular basis in the name of the Almighty, and he did it with little more than his experience as a swordsman and his faith.

At least, he had been a Knight of the Cross. The last time we'd fought together, he had been torn up pretty bad. A bullet from a demon's machine gun had bounced around inside him, doing all kinds of nasty things that had nothing to do with magic. And it had been my fault. He'd been crippled, and unable to carry on as a Knight.

Michael Carpenter had been my friend for a long time, and stood by me when nobody else had. Hell, _I_ would have dumped me from the way I sounded back then. Not to mention that his wife Charity had, until recently, never held anything but a balance between distaste and hatred for me. So if he was in need, I'd come running. If I had to take a detour straight through the Underworld itself, I'd be there for him. I owed it to him, not only for everything he'd done for me, but for everything I'd put him through.

Plus, his daughter was my apprentice. It was my responsibility to make sure she was alright and not, you know, trying to get us both killed by meddling with psychomancy again.

It took way too long, but eventually I screeched the Blue Beetle to a halt in front of the Carpenter home. A two-story Victorian dream house in ivory and burgundy, with a genuine white picket fence around the lawn. My long legs allowed me, with only slight difficulty, to leap directly over that fence and sprint straight across the lawn. As soon as my shoes hit the wooden porch, Michael had opened the front door for me. "Thank goodness. Come inside!"

One of the few things that a lot of supernatural writers and movie-makers get right about the real supernatural is that thresholds, meaning entrances to homes, have a lot of power. Vampires are notoriously unable to cross a working threshold without an invitation. While wizards aren't quite so dark and, well, evil, it does take a toll. Stepping across a threshold without being invited can all but strip a wizard of their power entirely. A Senior White Council member would be downgraded to Beginner status, meaning a guy like me would hardly be able to make a stiff breeze, much less do any real magic.

Molly lay on the comfy couch in the large living room that overlooked their snow-covered backyard, glowing with the almost-light bouncing off the first clouds that preceded sunrise. Huddled around her in prayer were the other Carpenter children; Daniel, Matthew, Alicia, Amanda, and Hope. And sitting tightly in a chair at the end of the couch was Charity, with baby Harry clutched in her arms. Evidently the entire house had been roused by Molly's screams, though I honestly couldn't be sure whether or not they usually woke up around this time. Charity ran a tight ship.

But at the moment, she looked just as frightened as anyone, as her oldest daughter lay writhing painfully on their living room couch. The last time she looked so concerned, vulnerable, and honestly frightened, was when we'd invaded a frozen faerie fortress.

With a quick exchange of our eyes, I knelt down at Molly's head. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and her brow was wet with sweat, even being down to her pajamas on a cold Winter morning. I put my hands on either side of her temples to steady her movement. "How long has she been like this?" I asked.

"Michael called as soon as we found her" replied Charity. I knew in my head that it had already been way too long to be healthy. If the psychomancy that had hit me was working on Molly now...

Well, I didn't really want to think about it.

Michael moved into the room. I say 'moved' rather than 'stepped' because Michael had been wheelchair-bound for the past few months, since our last little adventure. It was a solemn reminder. "Can you help her?" he breathed, exasperated.

"Yeah" I said. "But I've got to ruin your rug." I looked around at the kids, and dug into one of my duster's cavernous pockets. "Okay, kids. I need you to move your big sister into the middle of the room. Can you do that?"

Before I'd even gotten the words half out of my mouth, Charity's little soldiers had managed to make a human gurney under Molly. I quickly directed them to the nice clear spot in front of the bay window, pushing aside the coffee table and foot stool in the way. "Okay, back up" I commanded, quickly pulling a thick piece of chalk from my pocket, and drawing a solid circle around Molly and myself into the carpet. I knelt down over my apprentice and infused a tiny bit of will into the chalk circle. With a sort of mystical _blip_, I felt the circle close.

Magical circles are used by wizards for a whole bunch of different things. Usually it's for ceremonies to focus energy. You can contain quite a bit of magical power, or sometimes even physical power, depending on the strength of your circle and your will. But while you normally use it to keep things _in_, a circle is a pretty good way of keeping things _out_, too. In this case, harmful psychomancy.

As the circle closed, I felt a sudden gush of pressure against my will, though it quickly faded. Sort of like being bit of tarmac when a car rolls over you. Whatever I felt, it was just the ebb.

Molly's breathing started getting deeper immediately, and she started coughing with the excess force. I helped her into a sitting position, her head over my shoulder and my hand on her back. "You're okay, kid. I gotcha." Her arms lifted and wrapped around me weakly, and she whispered into my ear.

After her fit had finished I broke the circle and stepped away, reactivating it again after I'd passed through, just in case. "Will she be alright?" Michael asked me. It was strange to be looking down now at a man I often looked up to.

I weighed my answer carefully, looking around the room. "Give her some rest, and she'll be as good as new." Charity and Michael both looked in my eyes, and immediately set the children to various duties. The youngsters getting dressed for the day, the older ones grabbing blankets and pillows for Molly.

After the room had cleared, I decided it was safe. "Just before you called, I was hit with some kind of psychomancy. Powerful stuff, to get through my wards and still feel like hot needles in my head. If the same thing hit Molly just now..." I trailed off, not really wanting to think about it. Michael had gotten a haloed security package from his time as a Knight, but Molly's sensitivity to magic is quite a bit higher than mine. Kinda like getting used to living under an elevated train, as opposed to a few blocks away. So if a wave of psychomancy hit me that hard, I could scarcely imagine what it would do to her.

Charity stood up behind her husband and stared at me hard in the eyes, but I noticed her grip tighten on little Harry in her arms. "Will she be okay?"

Trying to lie to Charity Carpenter, especially in Mother Mode, is like trying to win in a fight with a semi-truck at full-speed. It's just a stupid thing to do overall, not to mention nearly impossible. "Her mind needs to heal, and clear. She needs a lot of rest. And aspirin. Beyond that, I can't say."

There was a silence in the air between the three of us. I took another look at the kid, and then at her parents. "I'll be in touch."

I headed for the door, but I heard Michael's wheels squeak as he turned with me. "Would you like to stay for breakfast? It's the least we could do." I turned and looked into Michael's calm, welcoming face, and felt... hungry. I hadn't had much of a dinner last night, and Charity's cooking was heavenly.

But I smiled and looked away. There was too much to do. Not to mention that I'd taken a look at the clock, and realized I'd only eaten my late dinner a few hours ago. I needed to get moving. "Thanks. But nobody plays hit-and-run with my apprentice. I need to find the source of that psychomancy and make sure it doesn't happen again."

Michael smiled softly. "Well then, let me just say 'thank you.'" Michael took my hand and shook it in his powerful grasp. I'm not exactly a wimp, at a little over six feet with a good reach. But Michael Carpenter's handshake was a hardy one you just never get used to. Being a Knight of the Cross wasn't the only reason I called him the Fist of God.

As the younglings reappeared, their various tasks nearly completed, I slipped into the kitchen and made a phone call. Then I said goodbye to Michael and his wife, and slipped out the front door.

I breathed deep the crisp December air as I walked back to my trusty car, the Blue Beetle: stalwart crusader against the forces of evil and alternative fuels. Although, it's hardly blue anymore. The roof and hood were now primer gray since a close encounter with a giant plant monster (I called it a chlorofiend, but nobody ever understands what that means). Some joker had spray-painted a 53 on the roof at some point. The trunk was a bright shade of cautionary yellow, and the two doors were green and white. The originals were shredded by something with claws.

Yep, the ol' Beetle had seen it's day. But thanks to a good mechanic, classic German engineering, and a mass-marketed design, it had kept me going through thick and thin. But as I climbed inside, I was reminded of the overhaul it had been given. It wasn't factory, and it wasn't as comfy as it had been when I'd bought it. But at least there was an interior. Before a few months ago, it had been down to some wooden crates and two-by-fours. Two words: Mold Demons.

Oh yeah, I live the cultured life.

As I shut the door and cranked the engine, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I needed to talk to some of the other local talents, and then head across town for a pow-wow with a werewolf and his wife. Lying to Charity was impossible. But keeping secrets wasn't too hard. Molly was the most mystically-sensitive person I knew. And if what she had said scared the crap out of me, I couldn't imagine what it would have done to her parents. Just one word: "Burning."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

I've never been much of a writer. I don't really like to think about a lot of things in my life. Decisions are a pretty easy choice between good and evil. Being born a demon will do that to you. But here goes.

Harry Middleton's apartment was a well-kept flat in London. The furniture's nice and comfy, never dirty. Portraits are always clean and dusted. Fountain pens are rarely out of ink. And the electric bill is always paid. This is all pretty fantastic considering that Harry Middleton's been dead since 1984. He'd fought in World War II and lived to tell about it. He was a good man. One of those short, sweet, thin little balding guys that looks like the world's best grandpa. And his ghost was no different.

The past eight years had been hard for me. I'd left the only home and family I'd ever known. I traveled across the world, lost my big gun in the ocean, washed up on an island where a dead guy told me the origin of the universe, and was asked by the Queen of the Witches to lead them in taking over the world. But even after all this time, I really wasn't any closer to figuring out where I'd come from. Or how to deal with my giant red hand. Did I mention it was the key to ending the world?

It was a mess. Thankfully, Harry took me in. Even gave me a new gun. Well, new being a relative term. An old, reliable .45 from WWII. Even gave me a left-handed holster. I kept it under the bed he'd lent me. I'd pretty much said boo to the whole business of fighting evil. Never brought me anything but pain. And as far as I could tell, hardly did the world any good. I was in a bad place.

One day, I was out getting some groceries. Paying the electric bill from beyond the grave was no small feat. I figured I'd chip in for food, considering I was the only one in the apartment who ate. Being bright red and sporting cloven hooves and a tail, I was a bit too eye-catching to shop during rush hour, so I waited for the snow to get bad. I kept a hat on my head, my big trenchcoat tight, and fit my big hand into a gym bag. The cold never bothered me, anyway. And the cashier at the local shop was a punk-rocker covered in equal-parts metal and hair gel. We'd had a working deal for a while now: he didn't care as long as I payed on my way out.

I was picking up my usual: microwave burritos, chips, donuts, milk and beer, when I heard the phone go off. The kid was usually playing some kind of rock or metal just low enough to not be obnoxious. The only reason he ever turned it down was when the phone rang. It did. He did.

When I put my basket of junk down on the counter (it's hard to shop when you're keeping one hand hidden in a gym bag), the kid just looked at the phone, and looked at me. "Uh..." he said dimly. "Uh, yeah. He's right here." The kid, mystified, handed me the little cordless handset. "It's for you, mate."

I took the phone, just as confused. "Hello?"

"Heya, Red. Long time, no see." It was Liz. At first I was sorta relieved to hear a familiar voice. But that didn't last.

"How'd you find me?" I asked.

"You're a six-foot red monkey with a block of solid stone for a hand, Red. We may be stretched thin, but our London crew aren't idiots."

I grunted, looked down at the nervous clerk, and turned back toward the coffee machine. "Alright. What do you want?" Liz isn't a sneaky, back-stabbing sort of girl. But I just kinda saw it coming.

I used to work for the B.P.R.D. That's the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. Yeah, it's real. Basically we went around fixing curses, fighting monsters, and generally keeping the supernatural world out of sight of the "real" world. I lost my father and plenty of friends along the way. But the straw that broke the camel's back was the director, a spineless pencil-pusher named Manning. He had been willing to kill one of us, a good friend of mine named Roger, if something went wrong in the field. Roger may not have been human, but let's be honest, neither am I. And I wasn't sticking around to get fitted with my own self-destruct button.

Anyway, Liz said she needed my help. I politely said "No."

"Look HB, I'm sorry about Manning. But it's been a long time. Things have changed since you've been gone."

"How's Roger?" I asked.

Liz was silent for a moment. I thought I'd broken connection. But when she came back, her voiced quivered. "Roger's... Roger's dead."

I sneered at the phone, nearly crushing the receiver. "Manning?" I managed to ask.

"No. It was Landis Pope. Corporate leader-turned psycho. Called himself Black Flame and led an army of frog monsters. You remember those."

I scraped my tongue with my teeth to get rid of the sudden foul taste. "Yeah. Nasty."

"Yeah. A lot of people have died since you've been gone." I was shocked to hear a little scorn in her voice.

"That's not fair, Liz."

Liz sighed and kept going, ignoring me. "The point is that we need you on this one. We're stretched thin, and something big just came up that we can't afford to overlook. At least, I think so."

To be honest, I was on the verge of hanging up, up until that last part. "What do you mean? You're not calling under Manning's orders?"

"No" she said. "I'm calling because we miss you. And we need you."

I stayed silent for a couple minutes, thinking it over. On the one hand, it'd be nice to see the gang again. And I had been feeling a little... bored, living with Harry. Yeah, he's a sweet old guy, and he never ran out of stories. But being stuck in his cramped flat (cramped for me, anyway) had been putting me on edge lately. On the other hand, I wasn't about to jump right back into something I swore to walk away from.

Finally, I said "What's the job?"

"We got some really weird, really strong psychic waves off of Lake Michigan about an hour ago. It put two of our psychics in comas, and one more in intensive care. We just want to check it out; scout some of the local hotspots and see what turns up. Manning's convinced it's just a side-effect of everything else going on. But I'm not. What do you say, Red?"

Honestly, it's nothing I hadn't heard before. I never did like psychics all that much. Too sensitive. But psychic waves are serious business. They're not too dangerous all by themselves, but they're like an air-raid siren for something coming. And if just the warning bell was enough to knock out three people, what was coming next couldn't be good.

"I'm in. You know where to find me."

"Thanks, Red." I missed being called that. Missed the camaraderie.

But I wasn't about to get drawn in. "One last thing, though, Liz. I'm not back."

I hung up the phone, paid the confused cashier, and went back home to finish a card game with Harry and some of his friends.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

McAnally's is a real, old fashioned pub settled right into the city. Most people don't notice it, because it's tucked away between two enormous office buildings, and you have to go down a flight of stairs to reach the doorway.

An almost-physical wave of magical energy greeted me as I opened the door, blowing out like a sudden breeze. I basked in the spiritual heat, letting it melt away the physical cold I felt. I knocked my snowy boots off and stepped down to the floor. The whole place is set a few good feet into the ground, so that the thirteen high windows let in just enough light to tell you the time without breaking the atmosphere. The great long bar was crooked and uneven. There were thirteen columns carved with Old World fairy-tales scattered randomly amongst the thirteen tables, and thirteen spinning fans hung from the low ceiling.

McAnally's is one of the few magic-friendly places in the city, which means that an angry wizard or two grumbling in and looking for a beer was not an uncommon sight. And, as I've said before, magic does not do kind things when left unchecked. The main purpose of the design was to break up, ground, and otherwise diffuse magical energy. What any sane decorator would see as utter chaos, we see as a safe haven. The randomly-placed columns, the spinning fans, and the number thirteen were all set up to keep magic from settling and festering.

Of course, as a man over six feet, the low fans made me nervous. And as I sat down at the bar on one of the thirteen stools, I noticed that one of them still spun a little slower than the rest. It had a broken blade and a scar in the ceiling from the time Tiny the ten-foot billygoat had come in and challenged me to mortal combat.

Before I could call, a bottle of McAnally's signature microbrew landed on the bar in front of me. The owner, bartender, and cook at McAnally's was Mac, a spare bald man with a complexion that put him anywhere between thirty and fifty. I looked at Mac, knowing that it was only ten in the morning. And he looked back with is usual thousand-yard stare. He knew what was up. "Thanks Mac" I said. He grunted in reply, turning back to his grill. He was a man of few words. But I'll be damned if he couldn't make an ambrosaic ale.

But even Mac's heavenly beer wasn't enough to keep a wince from my face as I watched several of the other customers immediately head back out into the oppressive cold. Most people, even magically speaking, don't have a ton of power. Premonitions, maybe a spell here and there, but most of the magical community wasn't too talented. Only those with immense talent got noticed and appointed as part of the White Council. And even fewer still were given the grey cloak of the Wardens, their police force. The Wardens were the ones who got to play judge, jury, and executioner if they felt that the Laws of Magic had been, or were in danger of being, broken. While they were the image of magical law, they weren't much liked. There was a reason blood didn't stain those cloaks. I hadn't taken the title lightly, but when there's a secret war on against nearly half the monsters on the planet... well, Stan Lee said it best. With great power comes great responsibility.

While I waited and sipped my beer, I ordered some eggs and one of Mac's specialty steaks. He worked the grill like a master. A real wood-smoke grill, not one of those charcoal or propane jobs. He flipped, stirred, cooked and seared like no man I'd ever seen. And in the time it took to cook the food and bring it over to me, his white shirt and apron had remained spotless. I put my money on the counter, which Mac accepted with a grunt, and I set about my steak like a hungry dog.

About half an hour later, when I'd made it down to my fat and the toast, I heard the door swing open. I looked up to see two people coming down the steps. A guy of average height with above-average muscle and a five-o-clock shadow, and a tall willowy brunette. Both wore sweat clothes beneath their winter jackets. "Heya Harry." It was Will and Georgia Borden, the married werewolves.

I'd known both of them since they were just teenagers, wearing bad fake leather and sporting more grease than a pizza chain. They'd been taught to shapeshift into enormous wolves by the genuine article, and formed a pack called the Alphas, dedicated to shutting down dark magic around their college campus. Of course, the years had taken their toll. The Alphas had mostly grown up and gone their separate ways, and the ones that survived bore scars of one kind or another. They'd been my friends and allies for years and gone through some rough stuff at my side. Not to mention a nasty incident with psychophagic fleas.

I waved politely and they sat on the stools beside me. Mac gave me a questioning quirk of his eyebrow, and I nodded. It was strange to remember that these two were already drinking age. Mac set two bottles down and returned to the grill.

"So what's up, Harry?" Will asked, stealing a bit of toast and trying in vain to twist open his bottle.

"Did you guys feel what happened this morning?" I asked, grabbing a bottle-opener from the other side of the bar and opening his beer for him.

Georgia spoke as Billy first sipped, then guzzled. "We didn't. But we got a few calls from around the ParaNet. Everything from spiritual headaches to... screams..." Georgia bit her lip. "We've been out most of the day checking up on people. We called you, but I figured you'd be out and about, too."

"Any signs of something nasty?" I asked. The ParaNet was a sort of organization I'd help set up a while back. It was like a hotline for mildly-talented folks to call if they felt they were being threatened. While it was nice to know that the psychomancy wasn't directly targeting Molly and I, it was no easier to hear that it had hit almost everyone.

Billy finally put down his empty bottle, remarking on it's deliciousness. "There was nothing we could pick up. No sulfur, no spirits, and no leftover magic. Whatever it was, it was just passing through." Billy put his hand up for another ale. Georgia berated him, and he begrudgingly handed over his keys. Mac nodded, sliding it over the bar.

I rubbed my own scruffy chin in thought. "Where were the furthest calls from?"

Billy looked over at Georgia, who was pensive for a minute. "The furthest was in... Berrien Springs, I think. An older woman."

My burned left hand's grip on my beer tightened through the lonely black glove I wore to hide the scars. Berrien Springs was a few miles inland. On the _other side_ of Lake Michigan. Hell's Bells. A spell big enough to generate that kind of magic, that _much_, would take an incredible amount of energy. Something on the scale of probably a dozen mediocre practitioners, a small-time god, or a few dozen other things way out of my weight-class. Which is par for the course. It never rains, but it pours.

I drained the last of my beer and gobbled down the rest of the plate. "Alright" I began. "Are you two done checking around?"

"We got the last one on our way here," Georgia replied.

Will leveled his gaze at me. "What can we do here, Harry?" I looked back at him. It wasn't so long ago that I didn't trust people to look after themselves. I'd kept the truth from people who needed it because it would only put them in more danger. But it hadn't been my choice to make. As a wizard, one with great power, I'd taken on everyone as my responsibility. Even those who'd offered, nay demanded, to share the load. I'd learned my lesson since then, and Will had been the one to personally pound it into my head.

"I need you two to find out who got hit. Everyone who called, I need an address."

"Like a crime pattern" Will smirked.

"Or an earthquake map" Georgia chimed.

I pulled an imaginary trigger. "Bingo was his name-o." I dropped Mac a tip and stood up, looking at the windows. It was almost noon already, and night cam early in the Chicago winter. I wanted to be prepared. I told Will and Georgia to make me a copy of what they found and drop it by my office as quick as they could. It was time I did some snooping.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

By the time I'd met Liz and Abe at the Michigan installation, it was half-past one in the afternoon by the clock. But I'd left London at almost half-past one, so by my watch, it was almost nine at night. But it was still the middle of the day. And I don't sleep well on planes, so the jetlag was killing me. Thankfully Liz and Abe hadn't forgotten that, and had a fresh stogie waiting for me. And while it was nice to see her after so long, I was sort of glad that Liz needed to prep for their next assignment. I wasn't in the mood to be around people, anyway.

Abe and I were given a boat and crew to sail out into the middle of the lake to find out where, exactly, the psychic energy had come from. Liz had used the Bureau's satellite to coordinate a rough latitude and longitude, based on where the base, and a few smaller outlets, had been hit around the lake. We cruised at a steady pace. The December air didn't bother me much, but I wore my big trenchcoat for the comfort. My breath came out in great steamy clouds, which made the driver a little twitchy. He looked like a new face. There'd been a lot of those.

I'd left the wheelhouse a while ago and come up to the bow as a lookout. It was refreshing, getting out into the world again. London was cold, but this was... brisk. The beauty of the lake. One of the crew had told me that the lake had been formed millions of years ago when the ice age receded. All the water that had sunk into the ground had expanded and basically dug an enormous hole when it froze. Then it all melted, leaving the water in the lake. I stood there, just thinking about that. I remembered being concerned with the workings of warlocks and ancient monsters from the other side trying to destroy the world. It was calming to be thinking about the way _this_ world naturally worked.

I heard the deck boards creak as Abe walked up behind me. "Quite a sight, eh chap?"

"Yeah."

Abe, or Abraham Sapien, was a fish-man. He was found floating unconscious in a stasis tank underneath Washington DC. The only thing they found to identify him was a scrap of paper with Lincoln's date of death on it. Nobody knew where he'd come from, not even him. But he was a smart guy. Before the Bureau had let him go out on his own, he'd be cooped up in his room whenever Liz and I had missions. And he'd spent most of that time reading and listening to classical music. He was quite a philosopher. The only one I liked.

But since I'd been gone, it seemed like he'd found himself a little bit. Found the man he used to be, and the life he'd left behind all those years ago. I was happy for him. But these days he talked a little... old-fashioned.

For a minute more there was nothing but the thrum of the engine, and the water, along with the occasional chunk of ice, flowing off the hull.

"I hate to be indelicate, but it's been a long time." Abe began. "Might I ask where you've been hiding yourself?"

I sighed through my nose, producing a big cloud of steam. "Away. Finding myself," I said.

"Ah," he replied, voice crisp. I felt a little bad. I'd been his first friend, and the one who'd saved him from being dissected when they couldn't revive him at first. I'd left him to find my own roots. I had good reasons to leave, but he was my friend. And now there was a block between us that I'd put there.

"I'm sorry I left, Abe."

Abe came up and sat on the railing beside me, fish lip turned up in a little smile. "Don't worry, old boy. Roger and I had thought about it after you'd left. Indeed, we had. But the more we talked, the more we both knew: we had nowhere to go. I can't imagine you had much better."

I sighed, another cloud of steam.

"Anyway, we've had our own lives. Our own problems. The former less often than the latter, sadly."

I looked over at him as he turned around and looked down into the lake. Liz had told me on the way from the UK. Apparently their team commander, Ben Daimio, had been possessed by an animal spirit and lost control. A lot of agents had died, and Ben had run off. He'd been Abe's friend, and they'd spent weeks looking for him. That is, until they'd gotten the call for the mission that was waiting for them back at the base.

"It's good to see you again, Abe." I reached over and put a hand on his shoulder.

He smiled back reluctantly. "You too, Red."

Static came over the loudspeaker. "Here we are, gentlemen." The boat slowed to a stop, and I could feel the turbines turn in reverse to keep us from coasting. The wind picked up, way up, until it was practically screaming. Abe and I both paused until the sound disappeared, and shared a look. In this business, you didn't shrug off omens.

Another fresh-faced agent came out of the cabin carrying a huge oxygen tank on her back, and two equally large guns in her hands. She handed one to Abe, which he took and clipped to the belt of his wetsuit. She nearly dropped the other gun, and I clipped it to my own shorts. Fancy little thing. First rapid-fire speargun I'd ever seen. Flashlight, blacklight, even a Geiger counter.

But without the guns, she had a heck of a time not falling flat on her back. She struggled to get the tank off, but I took it from her and slung it over my shoulder. She gave me a short, grateful nod and retreated back into the cabin. "She new?" I asked.

Abe made sure all the fancy bits of the gun were working. "Newer than most, but she's quite good with gadgetry. It's been seven years, you know. Nobody talks about you much. Liz looks quite normal, and I'm what they see on their first mission; old hat. But you're... well, a little bit scary before you get to know you."

I mirrored Abe's movements, trying to check out my own gun. Until Abe frowned so awkwardly that I just handed it to him. He flicked all the little dials himself. "And are you really going to need that thing?" he asked.

I shrugged the oxygen tank to the deck with a thud. "Nah. I just didn't want her to fall."

Abe smiled, handing me back the gun and making sure his own was secure. I did the same, and shrugged out of my trenchcoat, laying it on top of the tank. We both steadied at the bow railings. "Leaping into a frozen lake to seek out the source of unimaginable evil?"

"Just like old times" I replied.

Abe leaped in first, and I followed. The water was a bit chilly. My hooves didn't do much to churn water, so I swam with my arms. Heck of a workout for a normal person, I guess. Being what I am, I can do a lot of things that normal people can't. For example, holding my breath for several minutes at the bottom of a frozen lake. The tank would have slowed me down. And in my time on the job, I'd discovered that a lot of things are easier when I'm not breathing.

I followed Abe further and further down. He seemed to know where he was going. I stayed back a bit from him, keeping my eyes out. He was the fish-man, I was the heavyweight. I saw plenty of shadows down there in the dark, but I never found anything but seaweed, and moved on. I've seen a lot of scary stuff in my life, and it's never a good idea to panic. Harder to hyperventilate when you're holding your breath.

As we neared the bottom, Abe stopped and motioned me forward. I swam up beside him and he grabbed his gun, switching on the light. Down at the bottom, in the middle of a field of long seaweed, was an enormous hole. Not like a well or an impact crater, but like something had been ripped up from the bottom. Giant bits of rock and rubble that the seaweed hadn't claimed yet surrounded the hole. Most of the seaweed had been crushed, and even looked a little dead. I thought about that a little bit while Abe signed to me that he was going in closer.

I nodded and grabbed my spear gun. Abe wiggled down through the water to the middle of the crater. The hole must have gone ten feet down into the earth, but the shifted rocks had turned it into more of a deep divot. I turned my eyes upward for a moment, looking for the boat and making sure nothing was coming down on us. I made out the hull, and pulled my gun up when I saw other movement. I watched for a moment and calmed down. Just a patch of floating seaweed.

I looked down again to see Abe taking some samples from the inside of the crater. I looked around again for movement. There wasn't any, but I had this nagging feeling in the back of my head. Like I was missing something.

And then something reached out and grabbed Abe's leg. He didn't panic, but rather rolled on to his back and fired. I took aim and did the same. But down there in the dark cold water, if I hadn't seen the spear leave the gun, I wouldn't have thought we'd hit the thing at all. We did. I saw the metal glinting. But then I realized: the seaweed had moved.

I rolled to face the surface in time to catch a great big torpedo of seaweed in the chest. A pair of bright silvery eyes gleamed up at me as the little bits of weed wrapped around me. I dropped the gun and tried to push the thing away. My hand just sank through the damn thing and got me stuck even further.

The thing kept on squeezing, and I couldn't help but let a little air out. I tried to twist around and see how Abe was doing, but the weed-thing kept wrapping me tighter, staring into my eyes with those annoying little lights. Screw it. We didn't have time for this. I smashed the thing in what would have been its shoulder. It didn't work, but I didn't think it would. I grabbed the head of the thing between my stone fingers and crushed those little eyes into my fist. It didn't give too much resistance after that. I tossed it away and swam down to Abe.

The weed had slithered up his leg to his stomach now, and he was losing his other leg. I made it to the bottom and grabbed bits of the slithering seaweed in both hands, ripping the bit that had Abe off from the rest of it. The grip on him slackened, and he was able to skirt what clung to him.

I turned to him, rubbing my thumb and forefinger together questioningly. Abe nodded, but quickly reached for his gun. I flung myself to the side, with all the speed someone of my size can muster underwater, and Abe fired. I turned around to see a great big black shiny ball coming toward me, sporting two giant pincers. The spear had struck home inside that dark shell, but the thing was still coming. I dittoed the old grip-and-rip on its pincers when it got close enough. Dark blood flowed from it as it twitched and sank down to the bottom. I looked out over the seaweed, and thought I saw it move again.

I was wrong. Hundreds of shiny black shells cruised through the seaweed, making it shake like a jungle in a hurricane. I felt a harsh snap on my tail and tried to scream, letting out more of my air. I looked down to see the little crab-things swarming over the hole, trying to reach up for us. Abe grabbed my shoulders and we started for the surface. A couple of the things had grabbed on to my hanging gun, and I had to unclip it to keep us going.

I whipped my tail back and forth, trying to swing the damn thing off as we swam up. Trying to let go of what little air I had left on the way up was making me lose focus, but I assumed that Abe was guiding us to the boat.

As soon as we broke surface, I took in a big breath, swimming with my arms toward the boat. Abe was first on-deck, and reached down a hand to help me up. I took it and got a grip on the edge before bringing up my tail, black crab still hanging on, and punched it flat against the hull.

I hauled myself over the edge and sat for a moment, taking deep breathes. "You get what you were after?"

Abe pulled a vial of dirt from one of the pockets on his belt. "I did indeed."

"What were those things?"

Abe stood up and headed at a healthy clip across the deck. "If they were what I think they were, I've got to get this analyzed right away."

I stood up and shrugged into my trenchcoat to fight off the chill, following Abe as best I could. "What's the worst that could happen?" I asked as we went down the stairs into the cabin.

Abe never stopped moving. "If whatever was down there was enough to involve emissaries of both of the faerie courts, we could all be in considerable danger."

"So we're screwed." I said.

Abe finally looked back at me. "Yeah" he said. "We're screwed."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Screw you, Dresden!" came the shout from behind the door.

I folded my arms, tapping my foot on the cold doorstep. I stood on the porch of a duplex in Bucktown. While mostly a haven for cops and their families, the suburb of Chicago also played host to Mortimer Lindquist, the famed "psychic medium." The house would have fit right in on Mockingbird Lane. With a lot of show and know-how, Morty hustled hapless folks out of their money in exchange for a little piece of mind.

Which wasn't to say that he couldn't actually talk to ghosts. "What if I said I was doing my duty as a Warden?" I called.

After a few seconds, I heard the various locks from the other side of the door come undone, and the hinges creak as it slid open. Morty, a short balding man with maybe thirty extra pounds, stood in the open space holding a bucket. "In that case, freeze in Hell, _Warden_ Dresden!"

Mort hefted the bucket, and I hurled myself out of the way, crushing a few snowy lumps I assumed were once precious flowers. Icy water rained down over the walkway, clearing away some of the snow, but freezing on the concrete my footprints had uncovered.

"Jesus, Mort, hold your fire! I just need a word from beyond. You don't even have to let me in this time. No tricks, no cloak. I just need to know what they know about what happened this morning."

Mort shuffled behind the door. "I've got more water!"

"And if I get any wetter in this weather I'm going to need a duplex-sized fire to keep warm by" I snarled, ducking down in the lawn to put the decorations on the porch between me and Mort.

"You wouldn't dare. Now get out of here before I call the cops!" came Mort's reply. Crap. He'd called my bluff and put down the gauntlet in one move.

"Come on, Mort. It's probably the smallest favor I've ever asked of you, but I could get you something in return if you like. Just name it, and I'll do what I can for you."

Apparently Mort wasn't much for consideration. "There isn't anything in this world you could give me for having to put up with you!" The door creaked and I heard him take a few steps out on to the porch, looking for me.

It was time to stop screwing around and get dirty. "What about piece of mind, Morty? You know the war is still on, and you know they're after me in particular. The longer I'm here, the more likely they are to track me right to you." I heard a board creak as Mort must have lost his balance, and a near-tumble as he tried to rush back toward the door.

A few years ago, I kinda started a war between the White Council and the Red Court of vampires. All in good cause, of course. While the war was still on, and looking worse by the year, I had managed to set up Chicago as a neutral zone. Nobody with fangs -well, fangs, a bloodlust, and narcotic saliva- had tried to kill me in particular in quite some time. Not in any military-esque fashion, anyway. But Mort didn't need to know any of that.

"And you know how stubborn I can be," I added.

I heard a tinny clunk as Mort must have lowered his bucket. "Alright, fine! Dammit!"

I stood up and headed back up on to the porch, knocking my boots of snow and shaking some from my clothes. "Attaboy, Morty."

The tiny ectomancer leveled a deathly stare at me and quipped "Even if you died out here tonight, you'd probably stick around just to mess with me, and then I'd never be rid of you."

"That's the spirit."

Mort moved to close the door, and I thumped my staff on the porch. He raised his eyebrows. "You said you'd stay outside." He pointed at the scar on his bald head. "I don't need another one." With that, he shut the door in my face.

I turned around and leaned against the door. The last time I'd worked with Mort, we'd been on the Larry Fowler Show talking about magic in the modern world, in front of a live audience. And, in front of said live audience, the freaking Warmaster of the Red Court showed up pretending to be an expert on the supernatural. Sheer, unbridled terror tends to make me lose control over my magic. The tech in the studio ended up falling apart, and Mort took a stage-light to the noggin. And honestly, most of our dealings before that haven't been all that pleasant. I don't blame him for hating my guts.

But you know what they say about omelets and eggs. I mean, I feel bad about it. But we've all got our problems. For example, my rent was coming due soon. The paycheck I got monthly as a warden only just covered my bases. If the Beetle needed a tune-up, or something happened while I was training Molly, or if I wanted to take Anastasia out to dinner, I'd have to dig deep. I used to get paid for some consulting work for the Chicago PD, but that came few-and-far-between these days. Being the good guy doesn't pay well.

I needed to head by my office after Mort came through. Not just because I needed to pick up Will and Georgia's findings, but to see if I'd actually gotten any work. Like I said, I had an ad in the yellow pages. Half of me was hoping nothing had come in. Fewer calls means fewer problems, right? And that's exactly what I needed. On the other hand, money may not buy happiness, but it buys everything else.

The locks came undone again, and I turned to see Mort through the doorway. "Well?" I asked. Mort just stood there, rubbing his temples. "Don't tell me 'dead men tell no tales" I said.

He sighed heavily. "They're terrified."

"Of what?"

"They don't know. They just keep saying 'it.'"

"The clown spider from the Stephen King book? I need details. Falling stars, broken mountains, anything."

Mort rubbed at his eyes. "All they know is that it hurts. They keep screaming about the earth rising, and burning, all because of 'it'."

I stood on the porch, leaned on my staff. "Is there anything you can do for them?"

Mort just looked at the ground. "I don't know. But I'll try."  
"Thanks, MortI headed back to the Beetle, thinking. Earthquakes and fires were pretty standard disaster fare. It could be anything. But at least this time I knew beforehand that it would be out of my weight-class. Normally that would be enough for me to call in the cavalry, but I didn't have a time-frame. Where and why would come when needed. What and when were the important parts, and I needed that before I started interrupting schedules of the other wardens. Not everyone had the luxury of living in a neutral zone from the war. They had their own people to protect.

I starting making a list in my head of anyone I could count on as I sped across snowbound Chicago toward my office. It would be a long drive. But I wasn't counting on it being a long list.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The only dirt Abe had been able to dig up about the... dirt... was that it was old. Really old. Older than Lake Michigan. And whatever was buried underneath it had practically made the dirt radioactive with magic. Abe went through a few of the last fancy toys left at that instillation before he settled on a microscope and carbon dating. Whatever came out of the lake had blown like a psychic volcano.

Picking some bits off the one I smashed, we found out that the creatures in the lake were called Shelleycobbes. The living seaweed didn't seem to have an English name. But they were faeries that work for the Winter and Summer Courts, respectively. Nasty. They only really fight near the changing of the seasons, otherwise they keep each other at a standoff. But here it was, the dead of winter. Whatever was going on was big. Like Liz said, too big to ignore.

Abe and I sat alone in the lab aboard the Bureau's boat. "So how do we handle this?" I asked.

Abe sat back in his chair and tented his fingers, but I could see the nervous twitch in his heel. "Well," he began, "with all of the more sensitive equipment and agents indisposed, it seems the only way to figure out what happened here is with logic." He stood up, pacing back and forth as he spoke. "Whatever came out of that hole was more than just a magical air-pocket. Those creatures down there were searching, hunting for something. So we're probably looking at some kind of powerful object, or worse even, a weapon."

He paused for emphasis, and I spoke up. "I guess it's not going to be as easy as finding it and giving it to them."

"Not only that, but it could be extraordinary dangerous. Giving an edge to either of the courts could result in a spontaneous skirmish, if not a war."

I guess my lack of concern was showing on my face. "The head of the witches had recently asked me to be their king so they could retake the world by storm. Excuse me if I'm not as shocked as I'd normally be."

"Hellboy, a war between the faerie courts could have catastrophic consequences. Imagine Mount St. Helens erupting right here in the middle of North America, or a new ice age overtaking the Northern hemisphere."

That perked me up a little bit. "Okay, whatever this thing is, it's bad. Got it. So we find it, hide it away in a warehouse somewhere. Worked for the ark."

"That's the puzzling, worrying element in this. If it were simply an object, the faeries would most-certainly have found it by now. Or someone else would have, and the faeries found them. There must be more to the equation."

I remembered the last time I tangled with faeries. They'd kidnapped a baby. I had to drag a whiny corpse all over Scotland, but I got the kid back. They told me their kind was dying, and they needed children to raise as their own. The thing about magic is that it needs faith to work. Not like religion, more like acupuncture: it only works if you believe it will work, totally and completely. The faeries lived with magic the way the rest of us live with oxygen. And these days, the rainforests aren't looking too good.

When I took the kid back, they asked me why. Why I would choose humans over "my own kind." From what I've heard, there's a special seat waiting for me in Hell. What was my stake in the whole thing?

Considering the most common thing I've heard about myself has been the whole 'herald of the apocalypse' thing, I try to stay far away from the supernatural, unless I'm giving it a swift kick. But it bugs me. Every day. I wonder if I'm wasting my time, if there wasn't something better waiting for me. But I don't like thinking about it. Most of the time I convince myself I'm better off not knowing.

I tuned back in to Abe, following him out of the room. "Magic attracts magic. it's as simple as physics." We walked into another room, this one with a great big desk and navigation tools. He looked through the charts and pulled one out. It was a modern map of Lake Michigan and the areas surrounding it. He laid it flat on the table using both hands. "And as far as I can remember, there is a fair concentration of magical talent in..." Abe inspected the towns and cities to the South-West of the Lake. "The Chicago area."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

I parked the Beetle in the cramped garage of my office's complex. My office was a tiny one in Midtown, which makes getting there a pain in the butt. I didn't have office hours much anymore due to that fact, and all the other things on my plate lately. I went through enough Warden paperwork as it was, and my P.I business had never been terribly popular. Or profitable, for that matter. But it kept the bills paid when the chips were down.

I looked at the elevator doors, weighing my chances. I usually kept to the stairs, but the cold ached at my bones, and time was of the essence today. Maybe that wave had been a fluke; a freak of nature like that tornado that tore up a trailer park (where else) in central New York. Or maybe it was the first cloud in an oncoming storm. Either way, it was down to me to figure it out. And I wanted to have the storm shutters up _before_ the hurricane.

They say the cold sharpens your mind, keeps you on your toes and helps you make better decisions. But then again, the last thing you think of before dying in a snowstorm is to take a quick nap. I steeled my will and walked toward the stairwell. But just as I did, I heard the heavenly _ding_ of the elevator touching the ground floor. I ignored it and pressed on toward the stairs.

"Excuse me, sir?" Came a woman's voice, no-doubt the lucky elevator passenger. I turned on reflex.

"Yes ma'am?"

She stood before me in a small blue parka, the hood lined with fur. She was an older woman with a healthy bit of gray in her long brown hair, which framed her face. Her eyes were a pale green, and her cheeks were filled with laugh lines. But those eyes were worried and her face crisp. "I'm looking for Mr. Dresden, the private investigator? Would you happen to know when he might be in?"

I hesitated for a moment. Plenty of nasty things had come at me in sheep's clothing. But I couldn't resist someone in trouble. I rolled up a little of my will, but replied. "That's me. I was actually just going up to my office now. Can I help you?"

She closed her eyes appreciatively and stepped forward. "I was wondering if I could hire your services. My husband is missing."

The first crack appeared in her elderly composure. I let my will slip a bit. "What happened?"

She shifted slightly, fidgeting with the gloves in her hand. "Would you mind if we spoke in your office?"

I looked at the welcoming elevator doors, then at the older woman, then the stairs behind me. I sighed. "Okay. Go ahead and take the elevator back up, and I'll meet you there."

She smiled and raised an eyebrow slightly. "Thank you. Shall we...?" She motioned toward the elevator, as if she wasn't sure I knew it was there.

"No, go on ahead. I need to... keep up my exercise in the cold weather. Keep the blood pumping."

She nodded, still a bit puzzled, but walked toward the elevator. I dashed through the stairwell door and started taking the stairs two at a time. My office was on the fifth floor. But after a near-death experience, I remembered the snow on my boots, and took my time a little.

I was panting by the time I'd made it to the fifth floor. And by the time I'd found the older woman standing by my office, I thought I'd managed to calm it down a bit. Had to look good for the customer. I scooped up the envelope waiting by my door and let myself and the woman inside. I scuttled a few papers around, laid the envelope from Will and Georgia at the edge of the desk, and took a seat in my chair, offering her the same. "So how did it happen, Mrs...?"

"Mrs. Brady," she began. "My husband, Martin, left on his usual fishing trip and he hasn't come back."

"About how long has he been gone?" I asked, elbows on my desk.

"He left yesterday morning."

I sighed a little inside. "A lot of guys go fishing for days on end, ma'am. Are you sure he isn't just taking his time?"

"He would have called me, Mr. Dresden. I've called him, and he hasn't answered. I'm aware of how people like their fishing here. But I'm also aware of... other things. Things like what you do." Her eyes scanned the office, glancing at each of the pamphlets I'd put there years ago; "I'm a Wizard, Ask Me How," "Magic for Dummies," and a few others.

I looked at her for a moment. She didn't seem like the clingy trophy-wife type. She wore boots, and the parka was old and well-worn. She had a strong voice, too. She was a strong, independent woman. So why would she be worried over a few extra hours?

"Why exactly do you think your husband is in trouble, Mrs. Brady?"

Her eyes shifted to the ground for a moment. "Because he and I... we have a connection. From the first day we met, we've been able to... to... feel one another. We can't read each others' minds or anything like that, but it's almost a sixth sense. Like..."  
"Like magic?" I offered calmly.

She fidgeted with her gloves, but nodded. "That's why I came to you. The police said they wouldn't investigate until he'd been missing for forty-eight hours. And you have a reputation for finding things. People."

I laid my palms on the desk. "Mrs. Brady, do you... feel that your husband is in danger?"

"No" she said. "That's just it. I can't... I can't feel him at all."

I let the gears click in my mind. Sometimes when people with powers are together, they can make a connection like that. I would know, I've had one. It could be traced into the realm of harmless, subconscious psychomancy. If her husband was dead it would have left a backlash on her, but not big enough to hit anyone else, much less folks on the other side of the lake.

"Do either of you practice?"

"We've... we've always heard about people that can do things. But we've never dared experiment with it ourselves."

"Do you have any reason to believe Martin may have started? Any reason at all? Has he acted differently in any way recently? New sleeping habits, increased stress, different pizza toppings? Anything at all?"

"No. Nothing of the sort. He was just plain old Martin and now he's..."

Rather than burst into tears, Mrs. Brady just stared into the middle distance. I let her have her moment, taking one for myself.

"Mr. Dresden, will you help me find Martin?"

I sighed. There was already so much yet to do, and the light was almost gone. I'd need to get home before I could whip anything up. Damn. But I couldn't just leave a little old lady out in the cold. "Are you aware of my rates, Mrs. Brady?"

She nodded. "I am. I can pay."

"Alright. I'll take your case. But I'll need something personal of Martin's. A few hairs maybe, or a favorite bauble. Something definitively him."

Mrs. Brady opened up the zipper on her parka and produced a small paper bag. "This was his. His favorite fishing lure. He carried it with him every day, but he always left it with me when he went fishing. Didn't want to lose his favorite lure, the silly old man."

I took the paper bag and opened it carefully. A small fish, green on top with a white belly and black stripes. A small metal loop emerged from it's open red mouth, and a few hooks protruded from it's little tail. The colors were old and faded, but the polish felt slick and new. The hooks also seemed old; probably a bit thinner than they made them these days. Regular polished steel instead of titanium. But they were polished to a shine, the little loop too. This had obviously been well taken-care-of. But the clincher was the cursive MM carved into one side of the fish. Definitely put there with an ordinary knife rather than factory made, but it had been glossed over to keep the water from affecting it. "What's your first name, Mrs. Brady?" I asked.

"Madeline," she said with a sigh.

Martin and Madeline. The sweet things people do. The corner of my mouth crept up in a little smile.

Madeline gave me her phone number and the name and make of Martin's boat, The Charleston. I escorted her out of the building, envelope and lure in-hand. We said our goodbyes and I climbed into the Beetle, ready to hit my last few informants before heading home.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

I'd managed to rent out an agent and van from the Bureau. From what I heard, Abe and Liz had listed it as a supply run and intelligence-gathering; the on-the-books response to what had happened at the facility.

Agent Gregg and I had spent the past few hours looking up all the information the Bureau had on supernatural Chicago. So far it had been a total bust. The Velvet Room, a high-priced brothel supposedly built for one of Al Capone's mistresses, and a known vampire hot-spot, had apparently burned down years ago. Another brothel had popped up more recently, but it was a dead-end. It connected with "Gentleman" John Marcone, both the cleanest and most dangerous mobster in Chicago. And his only notable connection was a contract with Monoc Securities. Strictly up-and-up.

Chicago is an old city, built over layers and layers of streets and buildings long-sunk into the muck of the marshland it was built on. Those sunken streets had turned into tunnels that, once upon a time, had been used in the Manhattan Project. Nowadays, rumors circled about all kinds of things living down there. It was a risk, and I was holding that as a last resort.

Apparently Chicago had it's own little task force for this kind of thing; a sad sack called Special Investigations. But the records showed that they hadn't even issued a report on what had happened. Not one sensitive among them. Bunch of bull.

After hours of pointless driving around, we parked the van in the parking lot of one of the many abandoned buildings. I grabbed a sandwich from Gregg's supply bag, laid it on a cushion, opened up the back doors of the van, and waited. After a while, I managed to conjure up one of the little folk. Little fairies, like the ones you'd expect to see carrying teeth. Using the rules of hospitality, I chatted with the little guy over his sandwich. And finally, I began to see the connection.

Gregg had been using the Bureau's computer system to keep track of everything we'd been investigating, and finding connections. And connections to those connections, and so on. The Velvet Room, the tunnels, Monoc Securities, John Marcone, Special Investigations, and even a grouchy local necromancer. The little faerie finally dropped us the missing piece of the puzzle. Another few minutes' drive, we parked out front of a few old buildings in the business district.

"You don't have to come in, you know. Chances are this is going to be a piece of cake," I said.

Gregg just checked his sidearm. "Nope. This may not be official, but you're my responsibility, Mr. Red. I've read up on you."

I managed to crack a smile. "Oh yeah? What's the file say?"

Gregg put his gun in his holster and zipped his jacket up. "Basically? You're a big red trouble-magnet who works for us."  
"Worked," I said. "Past tense."

Gregg just shrugged, making sure his emergency ankle-strap was secure under his pant leg. "Maybe so. None of this would be happening without you. So I'm being a good offensive lineman and protecting the quarterback." He looked up and cracked a smile as we stepped to the back doors. "Besides, I should really take the lead on this."

"The second they see a badge, they'll freak out, you know."  
Gregg's smile grew deeper, if not wider. "Exactly."

I gave him a wary glance, and he sighed. "They might be wizards or witches or telepaths, but they're people. I know people. Trust me, it's the way to go. And besides, with all the crazy going around I doubt they'd take kindly to someone of your... stature wandering around. Having a human there will make you seem less intimidating. Until we need you to be."

We pushed open the back doors of the van into the fading sunlight. This part of the district had slowed down a lot now, and with a fedora over my horns and a duffel bag hiding my hand, I was totally incognito. The pair of us stepped down the small set of stairs, knocking our snowy shoes off on a welcome mat. "Buy you drink?" he asked sarcastically. We pushed through a solid wooden door and further into the earth.

The place seemed pretty much like what you'd expect if a bar decided to try and rope in the mystical crowd. Thirteens were everywhere. No tv, music, or any other piece of modern tech. Just the homely sound of the crackling fire grill. Very old-school. Exemplified by the big bald bartender with the baseball bat. He didn't beat the thing against his hand, or point it at us threateningly. He just held it, and glared at us. He motioned with it calmly toward the wall to the right of the door, where a sign hung. "Accorded Neutral Territory" it read. Sounded legit.

Agent Gregg and I each pulled up a bar stool. We drew eyes, but not as many as you'd think. "Ale?" the barkeep grunted.

"No thank you. Information," Gregg went on. "We're looking for a tall man. Black hair. Maybe a bit rough looking. Wears a black coat... carries a staff..." Gregg was baiting me. Laying it out for the Bad Cop.

I put my game face on and took the duffel bag off. I lifted my stone hand and slapped it down on the wooden bar, loud enough to draw every eye in the house. "We're looking for Harry Dresden," I said, as gruffly as I could. The silence was so perfect, I could have heard the snow hitting the windows if the grill hadn't been going.

The barkeep didn't flinch, aside from the wince when my hand had come down on the wood. He didn't speak, didn't back up or move at all from the pint glass he'd been cleaning. He just stood there, studying us as the rag did its work on the inside of the glass. However, several of the customers weren't as tough. I heard quite a few chairs scrape against the floor as their patrons stood up and walked out, whispering things like "another goat," "not again," and "second time today."

Finally, from the other side of the place, someone said "Who's asking?" We turned, seeing that most of the folks had ambled out except a few stragglers. The one who'd spoken was on his feet. A squat-but-buff younger guy in sweat clothes. He wasn't itching for a fight, but he sure wasn't going to back down from one.

Gregg turned on the Good Cop again and stepped off his stool. "I'm Agent Gregg, this is Mr. Red. We're looking for Mr. Dresden in connection with events that occurred earlier this morning. Have you seen him?"

The guy took one more pull from his bottle. "Like I said, who's asking?"

"Excuse me?" Gregg answered plainly.

"Agent Gregg and..." he gave me a quick up-and-down look, "Mister Red: of? With? For?" The guy took a quick whiff in my direction. His nostrils flared. "Last I knew, the FBI didn't hire demons."

At the Bureau, secrecy was always paramount. Nobody ever knew there was an op going on but the client. Of course, I didn't know if that was still he case, having been away for seven years. And Gregg was the agent, after all. "We're a peacekeeping organization focused on maintaining order within the paranormal community. Mr. Dresden seems to be a pretty big name in town and we'd like a word with him."

Gregg had played a good hand, but he'd already played it. Time for the Bad Cop. "You look like a smart kid. But these are the big leagues. We want to talk to Dresden. If you want to hide him, we'll look for him that much harder. And we'll wonder why we had to look so damn hard. But if you're so certain of his innocence, tell us where we can find him."

The kid slowly sat back down, returning to his drink. He looked a bit drained, like this was the type of fight he was used to losing, and didn't like it. "He's got an office. You know, in the phone book?" The reply was snide, but the talk was over.

I gave Gregg a look, and we both looked at the bartender, who had already produced a copy of the Yellow Pages, placing it simply on the bar. It didn't take too long once we found out there was a section for Wizards.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

_Author's Note: Hello, readers! Hope you're enjoying the story so far. This is just to let you know that from now on, Horizontal Rulers like the the one below will be used to indicate a change of perspective! Enjoy!_

* * *

I drove through the busy Chicago night traffic, brooding over exactly how little I'd learned over the course of the day, most of which had been taken up by driving. I honked as a jerk in a black impala cut me off.

It was about quarter-to-six now. The sun was already gone for the day, and none of the people I'd spoken to about the psychomancy could tell me anything beyond a flash of pain and an image of burning. And I still had to look into the missing Mr. Brady. I thought about calling Murphy and S.I. in on the case, but I figured she had enough on her plate as it was. At the very least, I could wait until I had something concrete.

As I picked the remaining bits of a candy bar out of my teeth in the rearview, I got a good look at the traffic stacked behind me under the streetlights. Amidst the plethora of economy cars and pick-ups was a great big black van. No logos, labels, or windows. Seriously, who owns black vans anymore? While I admit to being as nutty as a fruitcake and twice as paranoid, and probably would have freaked out at the sight of a black van regardless, my spidey-sense had never failed me.

Without noticeably changing my routine, I decided it was time to get off the expressway. As traffic picked up, I calmly made my way to the nearest exit using every stupidly-risky driving trick I'd ever learned.

When I'd gotten off the ramp, I sped around a few corners and picked a spot between a pair of buildings. I wasn't too far from home now. All I needed to do was get behind my door, and I'd be good. But A, if these guys knew me they'd probably have planned for that tactic, and B, I'd be putting the other tenants in danger. But I did need to get home to my lab to get the work done. I couldn't let these guys buffalo me.

I gave it maybe ten minutes, then calmly pulled out on to the road and slowly made my way back home, taking a few extra turns here and there. I kept my eyes on my rearview, but didn't see the van again.

That is, until I pulled up to my apartment and saw it parked there. I had two choices. I could cut and run, and try to hold up and do my work somewhere else for the night. Or I could do the stupid thing, and call them out. Hmm.

If my tombstone hadn't already been carved in Graceland, it would probably quote Marty McFly: "Nobody calls me chicken." I parked in my usual spot, unperturbed, and stepped out of the Beetle staff in-hand. I stalked up to the side of the van and thumped my staff at one of the doors. "Little pigs, little pigs," I said.

I honestly couldn't tell you what was more surprising: that that line actually goaded them into opening the door, or that a six-foot red man in a trench coat and fedora stepped out. I'm a fairly tall guy, so believe me when I tell you this thing made Lurch look like average height. But, me being me, I poked the bear with the sharpest stick I could find. "So which of Grape Ape's cousins are you, big guy? Cherry? Strawberry? I've got it: Watermelon."

He stood there calmly and took the hit without so much as a crack in that brick-like face of his. His fedora sat uncomfortably on his head, like he was hiding a bad hairdo. "I didn't come here for a fight, Mr. Dresden."

"That'd be a first," I said, slipping my hand into my duster pocket and rolling up a little of my will. Call me crazy, but I don't trust anybody who climbs out of a black van. Especially guys with giant rocks for hands.

He sighed, staying calm. "I'm here for the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. I just want to ask you some questions about this morning's... event."

I considered him for a minute. He definitely sounded like the official type, though I'd never heard of this Bureau before. The shockwave would have been felt by anyone with some kind of sensitivity. He didn't look like the type, but to tell the truth, I didn't know what he was. But I didn't want to start a firefight in front of the apartment. So I decided to play it cool. "You're a lousy tail. I spotted you back on the freeway."

The big ape cracked a little smile. "Your bug isn't exactly hard to spot, either." I've dealt with a lot of creeps in my time, and plenty of them have smiled and played nice up until they've tried to rip my face off. But for once, I felt genuinely un-threatened. "Would you mind if we stepped inside?" he asked after a moment.

I gave him a hard look. Sure, I didn't feel to urge to hurl a fireball at him, but that didn't mean he was trustworthy. I turned and walked calmly to the steps that led down to my basement apartment without a word. As I took each step, I made the effort to clear my head of thought and intention; to ball up all the hopes, doubts, and opinions I had built up over the entire affair of being followed, and tried to pretend as if I was just going home after a long day. And on my euphoric cloud, I pushed through the steel security door, but did not actively close it. I made no eye contact, just sat down on my couch and waited.

I listened, feeling only the slightest bit smug. The big guy came down the steps like a schmuck, and shouldered his way through the door. If the door had been closed, my security wards would have fried him, or at least knocked him for a loop. The fact that he closed the door like it wasn't a 200lb steel wall on bad hinges made me wonder. But with the door open, all he did was act against the threshold. Being a musty little basement apartment ruled by a painfully-confirmed bachelor, it didn't have much of a threshold to it. But over time, I had turned this little hole into a home. My mismatching rugs and comfy furniture saturated with dog and cat hair; the smells of spells gone by and lingering wisps of passions both seen and unseen... by thunder this place was my home.

Either the thing was unaware of the threshold rule or he just didn't care, but he came right in uninvited and closed the door no problem, leaving any magic that he might have had behind. You'd think that would be enough to convince a rational human being that this guy meant me no harm. And you'd be right, if I were a rational human being. Wizards don't live for hundreds of years being homely and trusting.

Mouse emerged from my bedroom, all shaggy gray hair and powerful legs. Perfect timing. I scratched him behind the ears as he rubbed up to my legs, still staring at the big red agent. "Mouse," I said, "meet Watermelon Ape." Mouse turned and locked his eyes on the guy. I turned to look at him. "I'll be right back. You two play nice." And with that, I moved one of the rugs on my floor to the side, revealing a trap door leading to the basement. I flipped open the door, scurried down the steps, and closed it after me.

* * *

I took stock of the place where Dresden had left me standing. A fire blazed calmly, and a few candles flickered here and there. No electricity at all. Not even an oven or refrigerator; just what looked like a cooking range and an old-fashioned icebox. This guy was definitely a wizard. And not one of those cheap turn-a-trick's like Lindquist had been. The threshold trick, and his standing in the magical community told me he was definitely a big player in Chicago.

Plus, the Foo Dog. He was a big guy, kind of like a Caucasian Mountain Dog crossed with a lion, and practically glowing with magical energy. Foo Dog's don't stick to just anyone. Like any other good dog, they know the difference between good mojo and bad. And if Dresden was up to something, I doubt he'd keep a Foo Dog in his house. That alone was enough to make me believe he was on the up-and-up.

Only thing that stuck out to me about this guy as odd: The apartment itself. It looked like the tackiest U.N. meeting in history. Native American rugs mixed with cheap Persian and typical pawn-shop deals. The couches were old, beaten, and totally opposite from each other. The walls were the usual gray stone, but with a vintage Star Wars poster hanging against one.

But it wasn't even all this that surprised me, and made me feel nervous. It was just so clean. We'd... visited... his office earlier; it was a pigsty. And with the way he was acting, and had been driving, he didn't seem like the type to hang around and tidy up. He must have had someone here. Definitely too cheap for a maid service. Maybe a girlfriend? Or boyfriend, as local gossip suggested. Either that, or he's got magical help. Now, I saw The Sword in the Stone when it came out, but I'm pretty sure the real Merlin never used magic to make dishes wash themselves.

As I looked around, I could feel the dog staring at me; watching me. I looked down at him, wincing slightly. Most dogs didn't like me too much, and I didn't want to spoil my chances with this one. So I calmly sat down on one of Dresden's surprisingly-comfortable couches, and leaned forward slightly. He didn't back up or twitch, just kept on looking. I put my big hand on the floor and held out my left. "Shake?" I said.

The big guy, Mouse I think he called him, looked down at my hand, puzzled. He sniffed, twitched his ears, and stuck his paw into my hand. I shook it lightly and breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. Finally, a dog that liked me. But even as Mouse jumped up on to the couch to get a better view of me, I couldn't relax. If Dresden was half as paranoid as he looked, he'd be tough to crack. Best to play it slow for now. So I stuck my hand in Mouse's thick fur, and waited.

* * *

Once the trap door was shut, I bolted down the stairs and muttered my spell for the candles, "Fliccum Biccus." I propped my staff against the wall of my lab, and began searching around it. My lab was an enormous brick of a room, a bit longer than it was wide. A table lined each of the longer walls with wire shelving stacked above them. Between them in the middle of the room was another large table that housed a complete pewter scale replica of the heart of Chicago; two miles in all directions from the harbor. A pretty handy tool for finding things. The last time I'd used it, a necromancer burned a hole right into the middle of it, instead of my head. I'd spent almost every day, and every spare dollar, trying to fix it. I'd been up late the previous night doing the finishing touches. But that would have to wait.

I turned toward the left shelving and was surprised to find a pair of orange lights flickering at me. They glowed from the eye holes of an old human skull surrounded by melted candles and trashy romance novels. "Hey Bob. Didn't expect you to be awake."

"Yeah..." he replied evasively. Evasive was very unlike Bob. He was an air spirit; a being of pure knowledge and magic. And the fact that he devoted all of his time to examining, and experiencing, human lust should tell you something about him.

"You okay, Bob?" I asked.

The eye lights shifted. "Huh? Oh yeah fine." He quickly cleared his throat, which was no small feat given he didn't have one. "What's up, boss?"

I dismissed Bob's odd behavior for the moment. Bigger issues. "I've got a bit of a problem." I waited for a snide remark from Bob. When I didn't get one, I continued. "I've got a visitor upstairs, and I don't know how to handle it. I honestly can't tell friend or foe on this one, Bob."

I heard something resembling a sniff, and Bob finally replied. "Yeah, I can smell it from here. Harry, are you okay? You haven't... picked up an extra jewelery today?"

I gave Bob a puzzled look. "Jewelery?"

Bob's eye lights shifted again. "You know, silver coins, about yay-big... HARRY BLINK TWICE IF I CAN GO OUT AND FIND HELP!"

Against Bob's request, my eyes completely bugged out. "Bob, what the Hell are you talking about?" I focused on not blinking. If Bob took it upon himself to leave for the night, I'd be screwed.

"You'd know all about Hell wouldn't you, Lasciel! I know you're in there! I can smell you, you nasty demon bitch!"

I held up my hands. "Hells Bells, Bob, time-out! I, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden demand that you explain yourself." I felt my eyes begin to water. "And no, you can't leave."

The eye lights shrank to little pin-pricks. "Boss, this whole place reeks of brimstone. I smelled you before you came down the stairs."

I closed my eyes and focused on my sense of smell, pushing away all of the familiar odors of the lab, and the apartment. The metallic scents, the burning wax, the animals... finally, I found it. Sulfur. And honestly, it scared me a little bit as to how long it took me to realize it.

A while back, I'd been carrying one of the coins of the Blackened Denarius; supposedly the thirty pieces of silver given to Judas for his betrayal. Yes, THE Judas. Each coin held the essence of one of the Fallen; the angels that fought beside Lucifer. Anyone who touched the coin instantly got a snapshot of the angel imprinted into their brain. The angels promised power in exchange for nothing more or less than your free will. Most folks who touched the coins ended up swallowing them and turning into monsters. I, however, had buried mine under three feet of solid concrete. Long-story-short, It had been a long hard road, but I'd gotten out of it unscathed. Relatively.

But sulfur was the least of my problems. Where there's smoke there's fire. And where there's sulfur, there's a demon.

"So, where's the fire, Harry?" Bob asked.

"Upstairs," I replied. "Apparently this guy working for some government agency has been following me all day long. You felt that psychomancy this morning?"

"Felt it?" Bob exclaimed. "If I'd been out of this skull, I could have surfed that thing halfway across this continent."

"Yeah. They want to talk to me about what happened."

"Well, last time I checked, the Feds didn't run with demons. Well, actually the last time I heard about them, they were turning themselves into werewolves. But I'm pretty sure this is out of their depth."

"So what do I do?" I asked. "You want to go upstairs, see if you can recognize him?"

Bob's eyes flared to great bright lamplights. "Are you CRAZY?! I'm not even welcome in my own court! There's NO WAY I'm mucking about with this Heaven and Hell malarkey."

"Malarkey?" I asked. "Are you getting old, Bob?"

Using the minute amount of telekinesis he possessed, Bob snapped up one of his trashy romance novels, The Lonely Jaeger, and buried his face in the pages. "Hey, my master is my template, remember? YOU'RE the one who's getting old."

I turned away from Bob, throwing my hands up in acceptance. For several minutes, I paced in my lab, walking back and forth across the brass summoning circle I'd bolted into the floor. I'd just let a demon into my house. Or at least something that looked and smelled a lot like a demon. Which means that I'd probably just put everyone in incredible danger. So I could blast my way out of the lab and try to take him by surprise. But on the other hand, Mouse hadn't uttered a sound. Not a growl or a bark, or even a sneeze. And Mouse was famous for his judge of character. So, Watermelon up there could be just what he said he was, or at least on the right side. But how could I know that for sure?!

I ran my hands through my hair, digging my nails into my scalp. There was really only one way. But it was incredibly stupid and dangerous, and would probably leave me horribly scarred for the rest of my life. In other words, just another day at the office.

I picked up my staff again and addressed Bob. "I'm going to soulgaze him."

Bob's book closed slightly, revealing one of the eye lights. "You realize that's incredibly stupid and dangerous, right?"  
"Yep," I replied.

The book opened fully again. "Just making sure you weren't breaking your routine. Then I'd be really scared."

I turned back toward the skull as I stepped up the stairs. "It'll tell me, once and for all, if he's anything decent or not."

As I laid my hand on the handle, Bob called up to me one last time. "Oh yeah, as if you work exclusively with decent people."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

By the time Dresden had come back from his basement, Mouse and I'd had plenty of time to get comfortable. He really likes it behind the ears, and had decided to rest his head on my leg. I knew I was on a job for the first time in almost eight years, and I was trying to keep composed. The old familiar tension in my shoulders to stay aware of everything, actually felt kinda good. Getting back into old habits felt sorta right, even if I couldn't keep the Bureau out of my head. Between that, the soft couch, and Mouse, I almost couldn't keep myself from passing out. It felt like home.

But when that trap door flipped open, it was back to business. I pulled my hand from Mouse's fur, and stood up. He lifted his head toward Dresden and hopped off the couch to rub up to him. Dresden knelt down and rubbed the dog's ears and face, letting him lick him a bit. I heard him mumble and whisper, like he was collecting a covert field report. I tried to stand there as nonchalantly as I could. Didn't want to rub the guy the wrong way.

The pair of them looked up at me. Dresden still seemed wary, but the grip on his staff had definitely gotten lighter as Mouse's tail started to wag. Cute little guy.

"Alright," Dresden said as he stood up. "Let's uh... let's..." he mumbled a bit before walking to his kitchenette. "You want a Coke?" he asked.

"Sure."

From the old-fashioned icebox he produced two cans of Coke, handing me one. I cracked mine open and waited patiently. I leaned my elbow down on his counter, trying to act casual. He looked me over for a few minutes more. When he'd drained his can, he set it in his sink and spoke again. "Alright. Let's see if we can't find some even ground, here."

I nodded and set my can down. "Alright. You know where I stand."

He rubbed his chin, thinking. He wasn't a novice; he knew how to hide himself. But at the moment, the guy looked like diplomacy had never been his strong suit. "You're investigating the wave of pyromancy that came off of the lake this morning, and you thought you'd pop in on the only guy in the phone book under the Wizard section."

"I'm not here to play games, Mr. Dresden. You and I both know the city didn't burst into flames. From what I've heard, burning down buildings is your job. Psychomancy came from the lake. I'm not here to accuse you of anything. But you're the man in Chicago. We... the Bereau... are a bit understaffed at the moment. And two heads are better than one."

Dresden leaned against the wall opposite me, standing under one of this windows and pulling himself out of the light of the fire. "And that's just it. How do I know I can trust you? Demons aren't beholden to any Accords or laws unless they're summoned. And as far as I can tell, you're running your own show."

"Been here since December of '44," I offered.

Dresden's lips pursed. "You smell like a demon, and look like a demon. But you don't act like a demon. And that's probably why I don't trust you."

I almost couldn't hold back a smile. 'The devil you know,' after all. "So what do you propose we do?" I asked.

Dresden sighed. "If I'm going to have anything to do with you, I need to know where you stand. Not just listen to you say it. I have to know it, at the very heart of me. I need to soulgaze you."

That one threw me for a loop. I'd never been soulgazed before. Never had any good dealings with wizards, to tell you the truth. So I was pretty curious. "Alright. How do we set this up?" I asked.

Dresden sat there in the dark, thinking. An entire day's work had led to him. If he didn't have the pieces I was looking for, nobody would. So I was ready and willing to try anything. Hopefully Gregg wouldn't get too antsy in the van.

After a bit, Dresden stepped back over to his trap door. "Follow me," he said. He then gave Mouse a quick nod, and I saw the little guy step in time behind me.

I had to duck down to keep from bumping my horns on the ceiling as we descended the stairs into what must have been Dresden's lab. Tables against walls filled with papers, books, tools, pots, bottles, and all manner of other things. A little skull even sat on a top shelf with little carvings on it. He was either the real deal, or a _damn_ good pretender.

He cleared away a lot of debris from one end of the lab, revealing a solid metal summoning circle bolted into the concrete. He made sure nothing was blocking it, and gestured for me to enter. I did so, making sure my coat wasn't getting in the way. He touched the outer edge of the circle and I felt a little bit of magic go into the metal, pulling up the circle like turning on a light switch. I put my left hand out, and felt the barrier like an invisible wall. I wasn't going anywhere until he let me out. This was about as much trust as I could give. All I could do was wait for it in return.

* * *

This guy was either the toughest nut or the craftiest monster this side of the Nevernever. He walked right into my circle and didn't even blink. I turned my back to him, giving my arms a shake and generally making it look like I was prepping to run a marathon. But the whole time, I cast glances at Bob, hoping he was taking stock of the thing. He made no movements whatsoever, and I took it as a go-ahead.

I turned around and looked at the big lug. For the first time I noticed that his eyes were yellow. Not glowing yellow, but just... yellow. But I readied myself. When you soulgaze someone, you see into the very heart of their being. Their goods, their bads, where they've been and where they could be going. All as clear as day and as up-front as possible, indelibly marked in your mind forever. But hey, worst case scenario, my mind was already a horror show. What's one more?

But as I began to focus on him, trying to find my way past those yellow eyes, I heard the phone ring. I tried to move on through it, knowing that the soulgaze would last only seconds. But I could see he was distracted by it. His eyes kept shifting. "If you keep looking away, I can't look into your eyes" I said, trying not to be rude.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "First time." The phone rang out again, and he winced. "Do you need to get that?"

I tried. So help me I tried. But seeing a look of mild concern on that brick-like demon face just made me break down. I held up a finger and walked over to the phone I'd connected down in the lab. "Dresden" I answered.

"It's Murphy. I've got a riddle for you: what kind of suicide bomber explodes, and walks away again?"

"Probably not a very good one" I replied. I heard her scoff on the other end of the line.  
"Maybe, but that's exactly what we've got."

"I thought S.I. was working on a shoestring budget these days. No payroll left for a charlatan like me." I smiled smugly.

"Last I checked, blowing up buildings was your department. Get your smart ass down here."

"Yes, officer" I replied. Murphy gave me the address and I wrote it down on pen and paper before hanging up.

But as I set the pen down, I remembered that I was entertaining. I looked back over at the demon, and sighed. I walked over and kicked the circle, breaking the bubble of energy keeping him in.

He looked down at the circle, and back up at me. "What gives?"

I gave him a hard look. "You want answers? I've got work to do. Follow me."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

We left Dresden's apartment about seven. Dresden gave me an address, and Gregg and I followed him in the van. And despite his government-trained cool demeanor, Gregg was curious. "So is he the real deal? A real wizard?"

"Yep" I replied. "He's paranoid, lives in a hole with no electricity, uses the simplest car on the market the last half-century, and seems to know his way around the rules of magic. He's either a wizard, or a complete basket-case." Gregg gave me a look of mild concern. I sometimes forget the way I look, and how hard it is for people to tell I'm joking. "Plus, he's got a damn Foo Dog."

The tires under me squealed and the van jounced upward, knocking my head on the roof. I couldn't tell whether it was the traffic, the weather, or just Gregg. "Really?! I thought you could only find those things in monasteries! In Tibet!" I gave him a look, rubbing my head. He smiled meekly and focused on the road. Gregg was an experienced agent, but it was funny, and kind of nice, to know that the Bureau hadn't killed his imagination. I cracked a smile, and we continued on through the piling snow.

After a good half-hour, we followed Dresden to a crime scene in the inner city. An entire intersection had been roped off, with several officers guiding traffic and turning people away from what looked like a bomb site. The snow hadn't yet covered up the miniature crater and charred blast pattern. A whole chunk of a corner of a building had been blown apart, and windows down all the adjacent streets were shattered.

Dresden parked quickly and cut through the red tape, heading straight for the officers. Gregg and I found our own space, and stepped out together, following Dresden's lead. He stopped in front of one cop in particular and we stood behind him, waiting to be introduced. She was short and stocky, with a cute little upturned nose that almost didn't belong on a cop. Her blonde hair was either cut really short, or just hidden beneath her Cubs cap. And her eyes were as blue as can be. But when they floated over me, I could see what was behind them: cold hard experience. This wasn't a newbie. She looked me over for a minute or so, until Dresden finally picked up on it. "Oh. Sergeant Murphy, this is... uh..."

Thankfully Gregg stepped forward and did his thing. "We're with the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense." Gregg smiled, being the friendly guy he was, but Murphy wasn't amused.

She turned and gave Dresden a hard stare. "Welcome, agents. Make yourselves at home," she said, without looking away from Dresden. "Harry, could I see you a minute?" She motioned with her head a little more forcefully than necessary, and Dresden followed her to one of the nearby buildings.

I looked back to see Gregg had knelt down over the rubble that had been the corner of the building. I followed him over and watched his work, noting the buildings in the general area for any kind of spiritual relevance. The debris looked charred, almost melted. Finally, he picked up a piece that he liked. "Find something?" I asked.

He held it up to me. "Smell" he said. I took the bit of concrete in my left hand. It crumbled fairly easily, and it was covered in something like soot, or ash. I gave it a whiff.

It smelled old. Not musty, more like... tar pits. Primordial. It was a clean smell, like methane, but less farmy and more fiery. "Sulphur?" I asked.

Gregg pulled an evidence bag from his coat. "Could be."

I narrowed my brows. "Demon?" I asked, dropping my voice lower.

"Maybe," Gregg replied. "I'm going to put it through the analyzer in the van, see if there's something in the database."

My eyebrows flew up. "There's a database now?"

Gregg took the rock from me and placed it in the baggie, smiling slightly. "Can't run an organization out of a few hundred musty books. We've been cataloging." He stood up, wiping the dust and snow from his jacket. "I'll be right back."

As he took off back to the van, I looked over to where Dresden and the cop had gone to.

* * *

"What the Hell is wrong with you?" Murphy seethed. I couldn't help but wince. "You brought Feds to my crime scene?"

"Sorry, Murph. We're working a case. Great big bomb of psychomancy went off this morning."

Murph's demeanor changed quickly. She might be a hardass, but she was dedicated to her people. "Anybody hurt?"

I sighed and looked to the ground. She grimaced. "So what are you doing here, then?"

I shrugged. "A man explodes and walks away the same day that a great big blast of psychic energy rips through all of Michigan. With my luck, they've got to be connected."

Murphy nodded. "We've got some footage from one of the shops. Come on."

"Mind if I tag along?" I looked back to see the big red demon standing there. I looked at Murph, and she rolled her eyes at me. I gave him a wave, and we all walked over to the liquor store across the intersection from the blast site. The owner was there -an older man with his gray hair in a buzz cut- sweeping up all the broken glass and muttering to himself. Murph stepped behind the counter where another officer was, looking at a little tv setup. I stayed on the other side of the counter, trying not to accidentally hex the thing. I cleared my throat a bit, and Murphy turned it my way.

The footage was grainy and jumpy, like one of those found-footage movies. I watched the corner where the blast had been. Thankfully there weren't many people on the streets. But a man in a heavy jacket and an ear-hat walked to the street corner. He was of average height; maybe middle-aged from the look of his face and his gait. No facial hair to speak of.

He looked up and all around, like a tourist seeing the sights. He tried to step off the curb, and nearly got hit bay a passing car. He seemed to glare after the thing, like he was ready to hurl a bolt of lightning. An assumption I liked even more when I saw the camera catch his eyes freaking _glow_.

But before he could do anything, he fell backward on to his butt, like he was suddenly afraid of something. He curled into a ball, hugging the corner of the building. Through the grain I could see that he was shaking. Then there was a flash, and the camera cut out. Murphy turned it back to it's original position and thanked the officer. "Look like anything to you?"

I reached up and scratched the back of my head. "It's not a lot to go on. I didn't feel anything when I walked on-site, and he doesn't seem to be doing any magic. None that I've ever seen, anyway."

"Looks like we've got a case of an Exploding Man," came the demon's deep voice behind me. I rolled my eyes. Saying that like it's an actual thing.

"Except he didn't blow up" Murphy replied. "There's no blood, no fabric, no gore, not even any shrapnel." She gestured over to the store owner. "Mr. Clemens here claims to have seen the man walk away."

I turned back to the owner, who looked at me with a grain of distaste, and I put on my friendliest smile. "Sorry to bother you, sir, but could you tell us what you saw?"

His scowl grew deeper into the lines of his worn face. "Her, I told. You, maybe. But him," he pointed over my shoulder to the demon, "can get the Hell out of my shop. I've had enough weirdness today." I leaned on my staff a bit, trying to make it look less like a wizard's staff and more like a walking stick for a guy with a limp, and turned back to the guy. Night was coming on, but even with the fedora, coat, and a gym bag over his giant hand, he was still six-and-a-half feet of raw red muscle with yellow eyes. I winced and raised my hands. "Sorry, big guy." He sighed, and stepped back outside, walking toward his van.

"Right" Clemens muttered. "So I saw him on the street, like you did. I was just here, going over my inventory," he motioned to the area behind the counter. "I saw the guy shrink to the ground. I was thinking about going out to help him; he didn't look dirty or ugly, you know, like the usual bums."

It took a lot of willpower to keep that friendly smirk on my face, but it held.

"But then he just explodes! Not like a grenade, but more like a firebomb. There was a flash, and a burn. If you look hard enough in all this broken glass, you'll see some of it's warped. And the snow's doing a good job of covering up all the scorch marks." I felt a little phantom pain in my left hand beneath the glove. I remembered very clearly the last time I'd seen something warp and melt with the heat.

"I managed to get under the counter," Clemens continued. "Protected me from a lot of the glass. So when I looked up, I checked around to make sure there wasn't anybody outside. Er, injured folks. But as soon as I did, I saw him. He was just sitting there, the same as he was before. No burns, no rips or tears. Even the little ears on his hat were still up. But everything around him was burned and melted. He stood up from the corner, and the concrete just came apart in his hands like charcoals." I nodded and searched through my thoughts. That sounded like something I could work with.

I heard crackling on the glass behind me and turned to see Rawlins, Murphy's partner, look through the door. While his size and his snowy beard made him look Kris Kringle-ian, I knew he was a tough guy, and built like a Mac truck. He'd been a big help quite a few times, and had even taken a bullet for me. It had sucked that Murphy had been busted down from Detective to Sergeant, but I was glad that she was working with a good guy for once. They were even old friends, apparently. "Got another witness over here, partner." He gave me a little two-fingered salute. "You want to be there for the statement?"

Murphy sighed. "Yeah, I'll be right there. You coming, Harry?"

I looked around the place a for a second, trying to pick up any extra details. The first thing you learn when you become an investigator, paranormal or not, is that every single detail means something. Whether or not it's pertinent to the case is the main thing. But you can't know that until you gather everything up. Also, I heard Clemens grunt a little bit as he went back to sweeping. I looked toward him, like I was glossing over the room, and saw him look me in the eye. "I'll catch up," I said. Murphy nodded and stepped past me, along with the other officer, and joined Rawlins to head down the street a bit. When they were gone, I turned back to the old man.

"You're that wizard fella, aintcha?" he asked. I nodded. He spoke as he continued sweeping. "I fought in 'Nam, and that shit leaves you with no delusions whatsoever. The world is an ugly place. And once you've seen a bunch of women and kids cut into little pieces by M-60 fire, you can't put the wool back over your eyes. No matter how hard you want to try." He set the dustpan to the side and turned to me. "What I told you was true, down to the ear flaps. But there's one thing I... I'm not so sure about."

"What's that?"

He stood for a moment, arms folded and staring at the glass on the floor. "I thought..." He suddenly looked up at me. "I thought I heard a roar. When a bomb goes off it makes a sound. A blast followed by that ringing in your ears. But this wasn't that. It was a roar. Like a grizzly bear, but a hundred times bigger. There was no high-pitched screech, no pressure on my ears. Just a rumbling growl of rage."

I looked at him as seriously as I dared. "Like Godzilla," I offered.

He gave me a hard glare, but it didn't last. He knew I wasn't calling him crazy. He just nodded. "I never much believed in that magic crap. So I don't really give a damn what some magician thinks of me." He emptied his dustpan and continued sweeping. I waited for a moment, thinking over his words. Without looking back, he said "Get out of my shop." And I did.

As I stepped back on to the street, I ran a hand over my face and through my hair. Just what the heck was going on in Chicago? I looked for Murphy, but as I passed the first alleyway, I felt something. A strangely warm breeze that smelled of pine and honeysuckle. I turned and saw some of the snow thinning down the alley.

I gathered my will, and stepped down the alley, following the breeze.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

"Seasons don't fear the reaper. Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain... we can be like they are... come on, baby..." I sang softly to myself as I followed the warm summer breeze down the frozen Chicago alleyway. As I did so, I stooped down and picked up a lead pipe lying in some trash, humming along. After all, you never know what's waiting down a dark alley. The cold pipe in my right hand contrasted with the warm wood of my staff in my left hand. I shook my shield bracelet from under my left jacket sleeve. "Baby I'm your maaaaan..."

I approached one of the large industrial dumpsters, swinging the pipe casually. "Laaaaa la-laaa-laa-LA!" I bashed the pipe against the side of the dumpster, producing a low banging echo, and quickly pulled open the lid. Nothing. "Laaaaa la-laaa-laa-la..."

I slowly crept around the other side of the dumpster, humming in my head. I jerked around the corner, pipe held high, but found nothing.  
"Vaaaaalentines have come..." came an almost alien voice. I swept my gaze around the alley. "Heeeeeere but now they're gone." Finally I looked up above me. It's not exactly my first instinct, being as tall as I am. A guy of average height with shoulder-length silver hair, draped in warm reds and greens, leaned off of the fire escape above me. With inhuman grace he leaped down and stood a few feet ahead of me. "I believe that's how the song went, anyway. Beatles, right?"

"Blue Oyster Cult" I spat. It was Fix, the Knight of the Summer Court of Faeries.

"How are you doing, Harry?" he asked awkwardly, as if the phrase held no meaning for him.

"I've been alright. You're still the last person to greet me with a shotgun to the head." Only mortals can become Knights of the faerie Courts. He'd been mortal once, and we'd been friends. But becoming a Knight changes you; makes you more fae. And the fae are about as far from human as you can get without going full-on monster. They live on deals, magic, deceptions, and half-truths. And they don't have any conscience in them to care who they hurt. Summer less so than Winter, but you'd be a dead fool before thinking that any faerie is harmless.

"And I'm sorry about that. Really, I am" Fix said, taking a step forward and extending a hand. It was like watching one of those things from _They Live_ pretending to be human. I held the lead pipe lower, but didn't drop it. Fix stopped midstep, frowning.

"What do you want, Fix?" I asked.

He looked at me with almost human eyes, then looked at the ground and nodded. "Only a baited hook finds fish, Harry. Stop this investigation."

I scoffed. "You faeries, of all people, should know that I always do exactly as I'm told not to. You say butt out, I ask why. So spill. What's the Summer Court got to do with an Exploding Man?"

Fix closed his eyes, frustrated, and stepped toward the adjoining alley to my left. "Please, Harry. This matter is bigger than you can imagine. It's as old as Lake Michigan itself."

I took a few cautious steps toward Fix's blindspot. "Uh-huh. If Titania really wanted me out, she'd have ordered you to kill me. You're the trigger man, right?" Fix's shoulders jumped at my words.

The Courts are set up sort of like a chess board, but with a Queen and a Lady instead of a Bishop. They can only affect and screw with what's right in their path, or in this case within their Court. And just like the Knight in chess is the only piece that can leap over other pieces, only the Knights can affect matters outside of their own Court. If the Queen or the Lady want someone killed, they send their Knight out to deal with it. Fix was never the physical type when I'd known him as a mortal; all wiry arms and shaky legs. But now those wires had turned to hard cables. And little Fix wasn't so little anymore.

"Harry, I... Fine." Fix turned back to me, all hard conviction tinged with anger. "I wasn't sent to kill you, wizard. I'm to relay a message from my Queen to yours."

I felt my control slip a little, and saw the runes on my staff begin to glow out of the corner of my eye. "I'm not Mab's Knight. And I'm nobody's messenger" I snarled, gripping the pipe.

Fix's eyes narrowed. "Knight or not, fae or not, you serve Winter, Harry Dresden. Three favors you owed to the Queen of Air and Darkness. Of which two yet remain."

I tried to calm down. As much as I'd like to believe it to make my life a tiny bit simpler, Fix wasn't a monster. Even in the past, Fix had never done me harm, and always looked for the loopholes to help me out. He'd turned cold, so to speak, because I'd gotten hostile. Shotgun aside, I owed Fix some credit. He was right. Mab had me under her thumb for two more jobs. And I'm human. If he trusted anyone to send Mab a message it was me. And he probably trusted me further than that. "What's the message?"

Fix closed his eyes, focusing on the exact wording. "Put this to your Queen: Where the fog lays not, shall the steam burn hot."

"That's it?"

Fix stepped back. "That is all I may say. Farewell, Harry Dresden." A cloud of steam whipped up around him, and I pulled up a shielding dome of azure energy in front of me. When the steam cleared, he was gone.

* * *

I pulled open the side-door to the van and hefted myself inside. Gregg was sitting in one of the small chairs in the back, in front of a computer built into the wall. The little chunk of concrete was sitting on a pad beside him. Lights were going off, buzzing sounds were being made, yadda-yadda. I didn't bother waiting. "Well? What have we got?"

Gregg turned in his chair, looking anxious. "I don't know. And nothing seems to be coming up in the database."

"Then what's the point of the whole thing?" I asked.

Gregg turned back to the computer. "It probably hasn't been put into the system yet. There are still mountains of books to work on, and only so many people who can even read them, much less interpret them correctly. But whatever it is, it isn't Brimstone. Or sulphur." I quirked an eyebrow at the statement. "Yeah, apparently there's a difference."

I leaned back against the door, thinking. "So what do we do now?"

Gregg turned, looking down. "Unfortunately, I can't do anything. That 'supply run' excuse will only fly for a few hours. Pretty soon someone's going to start asking questions. And nobody wants those questions leading back to you." He turned the computer off and took the rock off the plate, handing it to me.

"Yeah, yeah" I said, pulling open the door again and stuffing the rock into my trenchcoat pocket. "Just like old times, alright. Crap gets big and I'm on my own." As I turned around to shut the door again, I saw Gregg stand up and hop out with me into the blowing snow.

He raised his hand. "It really was an honor working with you, Mr. Red. I wish I could do more." And once again I saw the little bit of wonder behind his eyes. Gregg wasn't a hard-nosed by-the-book agent covering his own ass. Not yet. He was just a guy doing his job. And for the moment, everything was simple. And for that, I envied him a little.

But I couldn't stay mad. I cracked another little smile and raised my left hand to shake his. "The name's Hellboy."

A little smile spread across his face, but he looked at the ground. "Cole," he replied. And with that, he hopped back in the Bureau's van and took off down the snowy streets of Chicago.

I had a funny thought, standing there watching the van disappear into the snow and traffic as the darkness grew. I had a lot of those in Chicago. Knowledge is always such a sore subject. People are always saying that knowledge is for the responsible, for those wise enough to use it. Most of the time it's a huge pain in the butt just knowing something in this business. You could crawl around frozen tombs for days on end, just to the find the name of some joker written on a moldy old wall in a forgotten language. But sometimes you get something for free. And in this world where knowledge is power, and power makes you a target, you forget about the little things. And just how important they are.

After a few minutes of just standing there, reflecting I guess, I realized just how late it was getting. And with nothing but the streetlamps to hold it back, the snow was starting to come down harder.

I turned back toward the crime scene, looking for Dresden. He wasn't in the liquor store anymore, or anywhere in sight. I looked around and spotted the cop he'd been talking to before, Murphy, and walked on over to her. She gave her partner a pat on the back as he stepped away, and gave me a long look. "Can I help you, Agent?"

I raised my left hand in a friendly gesture, trying to take some of the edge off the situation. "I'm no agent, Sergeant Murphy. My partner's gone. I'm just the guy that gets things done."

She gave me another long look as she pulled the hood of her coat up over her hat and sipped her coffee. "You look like the type."

I raised my left hand to my neck for a scratch, huffing a cloud of steam. "I'll level with you. I'm a little out of my element here. Dresden and I are trying to make sense of what happened this morning." I let the thought settle on the sergeant, and made every gesture to let her know that I wasn't a threat. "Do you happen to know where he went?" I asked, after a few minutes.

Murphy just gave me a smirk. "You get used to waiting for Harry, after a while. But after that, you'll be glad you have him." Murphy leaned up against the squad car CPD was using to block one end of the street.

"That so?" I said, trying gingerly to lean beside her. The car only groaned a little at my weight. "You didn't seem too happy to see him. Though I assume you're the one that called."

She took another shot of her coffee. "It's complicated" she said, staring into the brown liquid for a moment. "He can be a dense, chauvinistic, cynical smart-ass, and a pathological martyr. But he's a good man. And I wouldn't want anyone else fighting back the monsters here in Chicago."

I stood there for a moment, thinking. "You like him, don't you?" I asked. She didn't say anything, but trust me, I know red.

"So what exactly are you, anyway?" she shot back.

I smirked. "A demon they found at the end of World War Two summoned by Rasputin to bring about the apocalypse. But I joined the good guys instead, and I've been fighting monsters ever since."

Murphy just chugged her coffee, un-phased. "Oh yeah. You two are gonna get along just fine."

Finally, I saw Dresden emerge from the alleyway next to the liquor store. The wind picked up, throwing his duster with it. He hurried over to us.. "I've got a lead," he said. He looked me over, and looked back to where we'd parked. "Where's your friend?"

"Gone" I said. "Just you and me now."

He groaned. "Alright, come on."

"Good luck" came Murphy's voice through the growing wind.

"I'll keep you posted!" Dresden yelled back as we walked toward the car.

"Damn straight!" was the last thing I heard before we crossed over the caution tape.

We stepped over to Dresden's car. With another groan he said "Get in."

I gave the little bug another look as I watched Dresden cram his own six-foot frame into the vehicle. "You've got to be kidding" I said, suddenly wishing Cole hadn't had to leave quite so fast.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

As we rolled down the snowy streets of Chicago, I felt the Beetle begin to lean to one side. His side. I looked over and saw the demon hanging his arm out the window. "If you keep doing that, we might tip over. And would you close that window? The heat doesn't work."

He shot me an annoyed look and pulled his giant stone hand in, laying it across his lap. "Real nice car you've got here, Dresden."

I swerved cautiously in the snow to account for the weight shift. "You try finding a reliable car that doesn't blow up around magic, with easily-replaceable parts, that doesn't cost an arm and a leg" I snapped.

But the window was still open. He hefted his big hand, and I glared at him. He must have seen me because he shifted his weight, trying to get his normal left hand out from under his stone one. The seatbelt hindered him in his big trenchcoat, and he was struggling. Knowing something about coats, I could relate. "I got it" I said, reaching over with my long arm for the window lever.

"Nah, I got it" he replied. I guess he managed to free his hand, because I felt a great big ball of flesh come up and punch me in the cheek. I pulled myself back across him, rubbing my cheek. It was definitely going to swell. "Sorry" he said.

But as I turned back to the road, I heard a horn blaring through the snow. I swerved hard and I heard a mighty thump."Ow!" he said, in an almost Homer Simpson fashion.

"Sorry" I replied, biting back a smirk. He rolled up the window, and we sat in silence for a few minutes, licking our wounds.

"Where are we headed, anyway?" he finally asked.

"To the lake" I said. "I've got to make a call."

The demon was silent for most of the trip. I guess he was familiar enough with the workings of magic that he didn't question. But I still had questions of my own. Why was he helping me? Was he just some do-gooding demon out to fight the world? Was he some kind of half-blood? Was he even a demon at all, or just something from the Nevernever that thought he'd try his hand at me? I couldn't know for sure.

But as I drove through the uncertain snow, I realized something. I could wonder and speculate, plot and prepare all I pleased but in the end he'd already told me all I needed to know. The question was whether or not I could trust him. I thought back to Fix.

But I'd let him out of my circle in the lab. He didn't have any magic, or if he did he didn't mind losing it all when he came into my house. He left his human back-up, something no monster would do if they looked the way he did and wanted official protection. He had all those little facial and tonal quirks that humans did. He was a quiet guy with a simple sense of humor. Mouse seemed to like him, and so did Murphy; two of the people in my life whose judge of character I valued highest. I narrowed my brows in thought. Maybe it was about time I started trusting ol' Watermelon.

We got to the edge of the lake fairly quickly, which was a lucky break in the weather. The beaches were pretty well deserted, which made parking easy. I just wished I'd packed my other glove. I shivered beneath my leather duster, even with all the enchantments on it, it wouldn't keep me warm in a blizzard. But the demon didn't seem too bothered, blowing steam with every breath. Since we weren't even close to public, and nobody looking around could see us in the snow anyway, he'd ditched the gym bag and fedora. His trench coat hung loosely around his chiseled frame; all red muscle like some lousy catalog model.

I led us right up to the still waters edge. The wind moaned coldly over the lake, tossing the snow into my eyes and through my hair. I closed my eyes and tried to shut it all out, redirecting all my focus to the summoning I was about to perform.

"So who are we calling?" he asked.

I'd felt him come up behind me, and was able to hold my focus together. "Mab, Mab, Mab!" I called to the empty lake. "Thrice I call you, Queen of the Winter Court of the Sidhe! Thrice and be done!" I willed magic into the words, sending them out into the snow with purpose and power in the sound, which faded quickly in the rising wind.

"A little dramatic, don'tcha think?" came the demon's voice. " A quick Latin phrase usually does the trick for me."

Not being a terribly good student of Latin (I really needed to get back on that), I turned to rail on him. But as I did, I saw a dark figure prowling across the snow. It walked on all fours, lithe and about the size of a bobcat. But what got me was the eyes. They were huge, and glowed a green-ish yellow that I could see through the snowstorm like floodlights. And just behind and from the darkness at its side, came a beautiful woman in a dress of deepest blues and icy whites. "Dramatic indeed" came a voice like a bag of strangled cats. "I am always ready, should I hear the barest whisper from my favorite mortal."

I recognized that voice. It was Grimalkin the malk; a cat-like faerie of the Winter Court. And to his right came Mab herself. Her dress was tight to her torso, but left her shoulders, arms, and a fair amount of cleavage bare. She wore a choker of perfect crystal that covered her throat, with a blue diamond at the center. The dress itself was deep blue, and sparkled even in the werelight bouncing off the snow. The gown changed from that deep blue to lighter shades as it went down over her legs, finally turning white at the bottom, giving the illusion that she was one with the snow.

Her hair was pure white, as if nothing had or could ever give it any spark of life, though it flowed in the wind like a living thing. Her features were sharp, clean, and plainly visible in her tight dress. I believe Tolkien phrased it best: 'beautiful and terrible as the morning and the night, fair as the sea and the sun and the snow upon the mountain, and dreadful as the storm and the lightning.' All of the fae that resemble humans look like the people they use in those sexy catalog ads: perfect and beautiful. And as one of the Queens, Mab was pretty bangin'. But she was also the most cunning and dangerous thing I'd ever laid my eyes on.

The pair stopped just before us, and Mab reached down to take Grimalkin in her arms like a house cat. "I must say," he continued, "I did not expect to see you again so soon, Anung Un Rama."

I realized she wasn't referring to me, and turned to the demon. "Wait, you know her?!" I asked.

But the big guy just stared. "We've met."

"Indeed" came the malk's voice again. "We have spoken with the red one at length. However we have no more to discuss with him. What need have you of me?"

I kept forgetting what a head trip it was, talking to Mab these days. The voice came from the malk, but I knew the words were hers. For whatever reason, she'd been speaking through Grimalkin for some time now. I couldn't decide which pair of terrifying feline eyes I should look at. "Fix gave me a message from Titania to give to you. Ya know, you faeries should invest in telephones. It would save you loads of time."

Mab's eyes slitted closer. "Your mortal time is but a blink of an eye for us. And humans can be so fragile and weak. Only those who can endure, last long enough to catch my attention. You have endured much, Harry Dresden." Mab's eyes flicked across Watermelon. "Both of you have." I looked back to him and remembered him saying he'd been around since 1944. I'd have to ask him about that later. "But what is this message that Titania seems to bent upon relaying to me, to deliver to my soon-to-be Knight? Speak quickly! For it is the dead of Winter, and my power and attention must be portioned carefully."

Mab's words said she was worried and busy: two things Faeries never seem to be, much less admit to. Then again, she'd been trying to get me into her court for years now. But those eyes twinkled with the same patient malice as ever. I'm probably the only guy in the world crazy enough to wonder what the Queen of Winter was keeping under her hat. But if it was Mab, it was always big.

"She says: 'Where the fog lays not shall the steam burn hot.' Mean anything to you?"

"Indeed it does" she replied, casting her gaze through me and out over the lake. She stepped forward slowly, eyes never leaving the water, even to blink. Grimalkin stared at me reproachfully as they passed. She stopped at the very edge of the water. "Make good this days bargains, Wizard. Find your saint and pray." She said nothing more.

"...That's it?" I asked. "No second favor? No 'I bid thee?'" She gave no response, but I could feel the wind picking up. "A man exploded in Chicago and kept walking. Considering that that, and the psychomancy from this morning are the only weirdness going on lately, I'd say it's all connected." The wind picked up again, making me squint. I sighed, getting just a bit frustrated. "I've had a long day, and I've spent a lot of gas money to come up with no answers. This is usually the part where you tell me to do something, and I figure it all out. So are you going to help me, or not?"

As Mab turned her feline eye back on me, the wind doubled in strength. The snow stung at me, and I had to put my hand in front of me. It was only then that I realized how much lip I'd just given her, and wondered how much she'd decide to take. She froze my eyeballs once. It's a hard thing to forget. You ever forget? Well, it happened to me. But I didn't dare back down.

But as her eye narrowed, a smile crept up the side of her face. And above the howling wind, a laughter like a thousand screws grating against each other in a washing machine rose. "My dear Wizard. I already have." Suddenly the wind and snow exploded from over the lake. I held up my hands against the wind, using my shield to keep the snow from blinding me. But when the snow cleared, Mab was gone.

Freaking faeries.

* * *

After the meeting with Mab, we crammed back into Dresden's beetle and drove back to his apartment, stumped. Neither one of us had said anything the whole drive back. I'd been running things through my head, trying to see if Mab had left me a clue. I'm sure Dresden had been doing the same.

Though I think me knowing Mab rattled him a little bit. Hehe. Dresden might be big-man-on-campus here in Chicago, but it's a big world out there.

But he offered me another Coke, so I offered up conversation. "Any thoughts?"

He sighed into his can. "Not a one. You?"

I shook my head as I drank. "I don't exactly have a saint," I joked.

And for the first time since Murphy's call, I saw him crack a smile. "Amen." We each took another swig, leaning over his counter. "So" he began. "You said you've been here since 1944." He opened a hand. "What's the deal?"

I let out a sigh of my own and took another drink. "In order to get enough power to risk taking on the Allies, ol' Adolf needed an edge. Something nobody else had: magic. And along the way, he brought Rasputin back to life."

"THE Rasputin? As in Romanov Curse Rasputin?" He asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. And when the Nazis were down and out, he decided to call up the herald of the apocalypse. American troops showed up and took him down. They found me, took me in, and trained me to fight the monsters out there."

"Herald of the apocalypse, huh? I've been called a Vader-in-training myself. You want something a little stronger?"

"Sure" I said, looking down at my big hand. I thought about telling him. They say telling people about a burden usually helps to relieve it, especially strangers. But I felt like the fewer people I told, the less danger there'd be all around.

He pulled out a pair of bottles with a familiar label. "Mac's microbrew," he announced proudly. "Best ale there is." He handed me a bottle, and pulled an opener from one of his drawers. I didn't need one. "To the would-be antichrists" he said jokingly. I couldn't help but smile. We tapped bottles and chugged. It was pretty damn good.

"So what about you?" I asked. He looked down at the floor and I saw his good cheer fade. "I was trained by Palpatine himself. The guy took me in, said he could help me learn to use my magic." He took another drink and his smile disappeared, eyes glazing over in a bad memory. "He helped me, yeah. But he did some pretty horrible things. In the end, I had to kill him before he killed me. Of course, the powers-that-be didn't see it quite that way. I was labeled a possible warlock-to-be, and they watched me for years, just waiting to drop the hammer. Or in this case, the sword."

He took another drink, and came back to the here-and-now a little more. "And now I'm training this kid who went through almost the same thing, and we're both under the Doom of Damocles for it. Like I'm trying to raise a freaking Sith army or something."

"I hear you. When your own organization can't trust you." I commented. After a few minutes of silence, I drained the last of the sweet, sweet ale. "We should get back to work."

He nodded, finishing his own. "Aint that the story of my life. But I'm gonna take a piece of Mab's advice, and 'make good on today's bargains.'" He made quotes with his fingers as he walked over to his phone and picked it up. I stayed in the kitchen, rolling everything over in my head. 'Where the fog lays not shall the steam burn hot.' Didn't sound like a riddle. 'Make good todays bargains, find your saint and pray...

"Hells Bells!" he shouted. I turned around to look at him. He stood there with the phone in one hand, his forehead in the other.

"What?" I asked.

He slammed the phone down and moved the rugs aside again, revealing his trap door. "I think I just unmasked the Exploding Man."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid. Mrs. Brady had called my answering service and left me a message: a physical description of her husband. Something I'd been too distracted and stupid to ask for in the first place. Five-foot-ten forty-five-year-old Caucasian man with a bit of a limp. Last seen in a heavy winter parka like hers. And an old earhat.

I could see the video from the liquor store playing in my head. 'Only baited hooks find fish,' Fix had said. Hells Bells. Poor Martin Brady had been possessed. By what, I couldn't say. But I knew who could. I whipped the trap door open and headed down the steps with Watermelon behind me. "Bob!" I called. "Wake up. I've got a riddle for you."

I looked back to see the big guy look around curiously. "You've got a ghost?" he asked.

"Not quite" I replied. "Bob!"

As I called the second time, I saw the orange eyelights glow to life. "Ja, boss?" he replied. Apparently that novel from earlier had put him in a German mood.

Suddenly, the big guy pulled a gun faster than I thought possible. But he wasn't pointing it at me. It was aimed at Bob. "You a Nazi?" he asked, staring at Bob's eyelights which had drifted to the barrel of the gun.

"Dude, what the Hell...?" I cried.

He ignored me and cocked the gun, and pushing it to the skull's forehead and pinning it against the wall. "Are. You. A Nazi?!" He bellowed.

Bob's lights shifted back and forth quickly. "Well, I... um..."

"No, Bob! The answer is NO!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah!" Bob replied. "I mean no! Yes meaning no- what he said!" Bob's eyelights shrank down to pinpricks. "Please don't shoot me."

Watermelon glared at the skull, looked at me, back to the skull, and holstered his pistol. "Stars and Stones, what did you do that for?!"

He just rubbed the back of his neck. "The last disembodied head I met was a psycho Nazi scientist with an army of killer gorillas," he replied. I gave him a 'what the hell' look, and he added "I've got a thing about Nazis."

Whatever. I picked Bob from his shelf and set him down in the lake section of my model of Chicago. "You're alright, Bob. But I need some expertise."

The eyelights returned, looking warily around me to Watermelon. "As long as King Kong over there doesn't try to shoot me again. You know I'm no good at this good/evil thing."

I held my hands out calmingly. "I know, I know. But what I need to know is: could whatever made that psychic wave this morning, possibly possess a human body?"

Bob's eyelights rolled up and down. "Probably. Humans are fairly resilient to magic on the short-haul. But something that big would likely burn the body out within a day or two."

Shit. It was already getting late. Hopefully that explosion didn't mean Mr. Brady was falling apart. I grabbed a string from one of my nearby tables and pulled the fishing lure from my pocket. One end went on the lure, the other I attached to the hook I'd placed above the model. If he was anywhere in the city, I'd be able to find him.

* * *

I sat on the stairs, watching Dresden go about his work. Looked like he was setting up a basic tracking spell with that model on his desk. I couldn't see everything because of his coat, so I just sat there. After a few minutes, Dresden cursed out loud. I saw the thing he'd been using hang lifelessly on the end of the string. "What's wrong?" I asked.

He slammed his hand down on the table and turned toward his phone. "I was hired to find a missing person named Martin Brady, by his wife. He left for a fishing trip, but she said she knew something was wrong. She gave me this fishing lure to find him with. But it's not working. I'm going to need a piece of him. I need to see if she left an address, and if she's still awake."

I didn't try to stop him, but I had a thought. "If this guy's possessed by something, then he's changed. He came into the city, but I'm guessing he hasn't gone home. If he had, she would have called. And she hasn't."

Dresden's eyes went wide, before his brows narrowed. "No. No she hasn't." He finishing dialing quickly. I could hear the tone from where I was. It rang twice, three times. But she must have picked up on the fourth ring. "Hello Mrs. Brady, this is Harry Dresden. Are you okay?" I couldn't hear the other end, so I had to make due with Dresden's. "Alright. You said you felt your husband disappear. When did you feel this?" He paused while she answered. "Sometime around six-thirty?" he asked. I thought back; that was about the time Liz said the psychomancy had hit. "You felt it?" he asked solemnly. He closed his eyes and braced a hand on the edge of the table. "Mrs. Brady. I'm so sorry. But I think your husband has been possessed. - I don't know, but I will find him. I'm going to need some skin samples, or some hair. A piece of him. - Okay. I'll be over soon." He snapped the receiver back down.

"Know where we're going?" I asked as he passed me up the stairs.

He turned and looked at me. "I know where I'm going. But look big guy, you haven't exactly pulled your weight so far. And to be honest, I don't need a demon slowing me down, and giving me a worse name in this town than I have already. You can stay here for now. But you should get on the horn to your buddies." He passed through the trap door, picking up his staff. "Mouse!" he called. I heard the rumble as the foo dog stood up from his place in front of the fire. He whispered something to the dog and made his way through the steel door, closing it tight.

I went back up the stairs and, thinking of nothing else to do, took a seat on the couch. I sat there for some time. Mouse just watched me from his place before the fire, which was dying. I thought about just picking up and leaving. Dresden didn't need me. He knew what he was doing. And I was out of it; I hadn't worked a job in seven years. This was his city, and these were his people. I thought back to what Murphy had said: 'I wouldn't want anyone else fighting back the monsters here in Chicago.' Maybe she was right. "Stupid" I said aloud. I felt like hitting myself. I'd noticed Dresden hadn't looked at me since he'd picked up the skull. I didn't blame him. How was he supposed to trust me if I didn't trust him?

I reached up and ran my hand over my horns. I'd been filing them down for a long time now. I told everyone it was so I could fit through doors. But I think they knew. I just wanted to fit in, period. All my life, I was moved from secret base-to-secret base, never getting any contact with the world. But I knew I wasn't normal. And before Abe and Liz came along, the only non-human things I'd ever seen were monsters. So I tried to make myself look human. I shaved my horns down. Started asking for normal clothes. I even tried to paint myself once.

But Professor Bruttenholm, the man who raised me like a son, found me. And he told me that it wasn't about what was on the surface. Inside, we're all the same. It wasn't about being human, or demon, or whatever. It was about being good and evil. What we do is what defines us. And I vowed then to be the good guy. To be the monster-on-the-outside that fights the monsters-on-the-inside.

I reached carefully over to Mouse. He didn't growl, and it felt good. I gave him a scratch behind the ears. I grabbed a few pieces of wood that Dresden kept beside the fireplace and threw them on the dying embers, using my big hand to clean away the extra ashes. I gave Mouse another scratch and stood up, looking at the great big steel door. But as I walked toward it, my eyes drifted back over to the trap door, which had laid open. I went over to close it, but couldn't. One last thing.

I walked down the steps, my hooves echoing in the empty lab. The skull still sat on the table where Dresden had left it. The orange lights had gone out. I walked over to the table, rubbing my neck. "Uh... Bob?" I said.

One of the orange lights glowed to life, like it was waking from a nap and looking at me with one eye. "Oh look, it's the Demon with No Name."

"Look," I said. "I'm sorry about that. I've never had a good experience with floating heads."

"Well," Bob replied indignantly, if a skull could do that, "I'm hardly a floating head. I'm a spirit of intellect trapped in this little skull, thank you very much." The orange lights winked out.

"Look, I..." I started.

Suddenly the lights came back on, full-size. "Ah, I'm just messing with you. Lighten up, Red!"

I cracked a nervous smirk, remembering when Abe and Liz used to call me that. "I try. Well, I just wanted to apologize before I left."

"You're leaving?" Bob asked.

"Yeah. Dresden doesn't seem to need me. It's his city. And he's right; I haven't really done any good so far. Just this..." I felt down into the pocket, and remembered the piece of concrete from the site of the explosion. "You said you're a spirit of intellect?" I asked, staring at the rock. It was still covered in that strange soot.

"Yeah, why?"

I brought the rock over to the table and set it down beside him. "Can you tell me what this is?"

* * *

By the time I'd made it to the Brady house, I was thinking about Fix again. Friends don't pull guns on friends. I put it down to some kind of PTSD or something. One the one hand, I couldn't really blame the guy. But on the other... it was making me wonder why I decided to trust him. But I put the whole thing out of my head as I knocked on the door. The neighborhood was a nice, quiet one. Just me, the snow, and the streetlights. At least the snow was lightening up.

Mrs. Brady opened the door quickly, inviting me in. She wore a robin's-egg robe and a pair of brown fluffy slippers, Her hair flowed down over her shoulders and back, looking frazzled as if she'd been sleeping. Maybe it was the lighting, but the worry lines on her face had deepened. "Have you found him?" She asked anxiously.

"Not yet" I replied. "But I know he was in the city not too long ago, so I'm hoping he's still here. If he is, those hairs will lead me right to him."

She bustled out of the little entrance hall quickly, returning with a brush full of graying hair. "Will this be enough?" she asked uncertain.

"Plenty" I said, taking the brush from her gingerly. Her fingers lingered on the thing until it was well in my grasp, then she flinched away. "Do you mind if I keep the brush for now?" I asked, holding it up.

She nodded, as if dismissing unpleasant thoughts. "If it will help, please do." I nodded and turned to leave. "Mr. Dresden" she called. I turned back to see her looking down at her hands. The strong woman I had met in my office now looked so much more frail and worrisome. "I..." she began.

But the high chiming of a telephone sounded from somewhere in the house. "Who could that be?" she said, sounding almost elated. I followed her into the living room. A comfy little thing with dark velvet furniture. Two easy chairs and a couch facing a large television in a wooden entertainment center. Knick-knacks of all kinds sat on shelves here and there. A bit of unfinished crochet sat on the couch.

She picked up the phone, and I cringed. It was one of those wireless deals with the glowing buttons. I stayed as far back as I could, and thought non-magical thoughts. "Hello?" she answered. She looked over at me. "Yes, he is. One moment." She held the receiver out to me, and I backed away a bit on reflex. "It's for you" she said, curious.

"Does that have speakerphone?" I asked. She looked puzzled. "Magic and computers don't mix well." She nodded and pressed one of the buttons, setting the phone back in the little cradle. "This is Dresden" I answered, expecting some kind of horror with a ransom note.

"It's me" came the demon's voice.

"How did you get this number?"

"You wrote it down" he replied. The stupidity I felt turned the anger into frustration. "Lis-en we've go- a- lem" he replied. Crap. My emotions were manifesting through my magic, and screwing up the signal.

I took a deep breath and spoke again. "What was that?"

"I said w- got- a p-lem. You sh- back here- -ronto."

"What? What's the matter?" I said, almost screaming as if he couldn't hear me. I walked right up to the phone so I could make it out better. That was stupid. As I pressed my face to the little microphone, I heard a high-pitched whining sound, followed by heavy static, and finally a pop. Wisps of smoke began to issue from the little holes over the microphone. I backed up and turned to Mrs. Brady. "I'll deduct that from your bill." I said.

She nodded with a little smile. "I guess you need to go. But one thing, Mr. Dresden." The woman I'd met had returned. Her arms sat calmly at her sides, and her eyes were hard with conviction. The lines on her face had seemed to change from worrisome to regal. "I've known Martin most of my life. He can be a little foolish sometimes, but he's a good man. He wouldn't want anyone hurt on his account. If he is... possessed, like you say, and there's no way back... I expect you to make the call he would want." I nodded solemnly, and went to her door, stepping back out into the snowy night.

It didn't take me too long to get back to my apartment. The snow was getting heavier, and keeping traffic to a minimum. I came home to find my siege door still in-place, the fire stoked up, and Mouse on-guard as usual. What was the big deal? I found the big guy down in my lab, leaning on the table next to Bob. "What's the matter?" I asked.

The little skull whirled in place to face me. "Boss, we need to leave town. This guy can sit and fry, but we need to go."

"What's going on?" I asked a little more sternly. The demon raised his palms innocently.

"There is NO WAY" Bob replied "that I am sticking around to fight a Dragon!"

I blinked, and looked over at Watermelon.

He nodded solemnly, arms folded. "Yeah. It's a Dragon."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

I sat there at my apprentice's little desk in the basement of my apartment, feeling very much like an apprentice again with my face in my hands. Nobody said anything for close to fifteen minutes. Which made it easier to hear myself say 'Why me?' in my head.

"Because your stupid" came the other voice. I couldn't tell if it was my conscience, or my darker half, or both. "You weigh yourself down with all of this responsibility. It's just one missing-persons case. It's just one demon. It's just one country-spanning psychic assault. Where does it end?"

I didn't have a response at the moment. Apparently, only one side of my brain can snark at a time. "It ends with you in that ditch in Graceland" the other half continued. "Any sane man, without a martyr complex, would have called for help as soon as that psychomancy hit. It could have been a tactical assault by the Red Court to disable all the more-skilled wizards in the area so they could hunt you down and end the war! Either way, this would have been solved in a matter of hours. But no. Now you're up against a fucking Dragon who's burning a poor man to death from the inside, and you've got no help."

I sat there, defeated, for a few more minutes. The last time I mouthed off to a Dragon, he'd flattened me to the ground with a passing quip. Hells Bells, how was I supposed to deal with something like that?

"So," said Watermelon from across the room, "what's the plan?"

I left my eyes in the warm embrace of my fingers. "I don't know."

I heard one of the demon's cloven feet hit the concrete. "We are going to fight this, right?"

"I don't know" I repeated. It was a strange thing to hear myself say out loud.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Watermelon asked, his voice rising. "Let's get a tracking spell going and pulp this thing."

I threw my hands down to my knees. "And what happens then, eh? We go charging into the Dragon's den, guns blazing? A Dragon in human form is one thing. But a real Dragon could crack Chicago like an egg."

"Look, if the damn thing is weak enough that it needs a human body like an incubator, then it can't be up to full strength yet. We just need to hit it fast and hard."

I found myself on my feet, shaking "And do what?! Kill Martin Brady? Just another casualty? I won't do it!" I screamed. My thoughts flashed back to the caves at Camp Kaboom, and the Trailman Twins. What was left of them. "I've seen too many innocent people die" I said, my voice falling back down to a murmur. "I won't do it." I slumped back into Molly's chair, feeling... lost.

* * *

I'd had about enough of this crap. I walked up and grabbed Dresden by his big stupid coat and pinned him up against the wall of his lab. A few of the shelves above rattled and sent the various boxes and containers clattering to the floor. "Now you listen here," I said. "I didn't come, literally, out of retirement, cross an ocean, and criss-cross Chicago a dozen times just for it all to end here. I've crawled through collapsing Mayan tunnels and monster-infested Venetian sewers for less than this!" His dark eyes stayed down at the floor, looking away from me.

"Are we just gonna let this thing burn the whole world down, after everything we've been through being the good guys?" He closed his eyes and grimaced. "The Little Folk had a lot to say about you, Harry Dresden," I said, giving him a little shake. "They said you led a charge on to a full-on Faerie battleground. They said you taped your guts together and rode an undead Tyrannosaurus across Chicago. And they said you started a war with half the vampires on Earth to save one person."

When he still hadn't looked me in the face, I dropped him down to the floor, letting him lean on the little desk he'd been sitting in. I walked back toward the skull, which had gone silent. I ran a hand across my jaw before turning around and pointing at him. "Any average joe, I wouldn't blame. Some schmuck sitting at home and watching tv, completely unaware of what the Hell is going on outside his threshold has no business keeping the monsters at bay. I wouldn't blame him for throwing in the towel at the sight of a werewolf or a demon from the other side. But we aren't normal, Dresden. We're the guys those people come to when they throw in the towel. _We_ are the last line of defense against the things that go bump in the night! And by god it's our job to hit back!" I lowered my voice to a whisper, remembering my father. "Because no one else will."

Dresden was looking down at the desk now, running his hands over it; tracing the stains and fingering all the marks. "So are you the man, the wizard, I've heard about or not?"

He sighed heavily and nodded solemnly. "Bob," he said, "you were once in the Winter Court. You think you could decipher one of Mab and Titania's little riddles?"

"I guess" Bob replied, exasperated. "We're gonna die anyway, may as well rack up the points."

"Titania's message to Mab was 'Where the fog lays not shall the steam burn hot.' What do you think?"

Bob's eyelights twinkled, and through some trick of the light, it looked like his non-existent eyebrows furrowed. "Well, unless the Queens have secret decoder rings in their breakfasts, the only thing I can think of is 'If you don't do it, I will.' Something like that."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Do what?"

The skull's lights grew bright. "How should I know? The Queens could level Chicago if they wanted. There's no telling exactly what it means."

Dresden snapped his fingers. "Of course! Fog is cold air creeping into a warm climate. Steam is the other way around. 'Where the fog lays not shall the steam burn hot.' And considering that after I said it, Mab looked out into the lake where all this started, it must have something to do with the Dragon."

"What the Hell would Mab and Titania want to do with a Dragon?" I asked. "Tame it like a dog?"

Dresden rubbed his chin. "I don't know. Maybe. Mab must be on the fence for Titania to say something like that. But since we're putting all the pieces together, maybe the other thing Fix said could mean something. He said this whole thing was as old as Lake Michigan."

My thoughts crept back to earlier, when Abe and I had been on the boat. "And Lake Michigan was made when the last Ice Age carved out a great big whole in North America. So that means..."

Dresden stood up. "Mab must have tried to freeze it; capture it in the ice."

"We found a pretty big hole at the bottom of the lake earlier. Like something big had floated up from way down deep. Maybe after all this time, the Dragon finally floated to the top. The psychomancy could have been it trying to beam a way out."

"And it found Martin Brady," Dresden breathed. "It makes sense. More boats and planes go missing in Lake Michigan than the freaking Bermuda Triangle. But it needed someone with magical talent; nobody else could hold it. Who knows how long this thing's been sticking it's thumb out for a lift."

"And maybe," Bob piped in, "we could just leave it alone for once?" His eyelights shifted back and forth as we both looked at him, deadpan. "Oh, fine. Have it your way. Freaking psychos," he muttered as his eyes winked out.

I turned to Dresden. "So now what?" He'd steepled his hands in front of his face, thinking. "Dresden?" I asked again, getting agitated.

After a moment, he crossed the room to a pile of books, papers and other debris. "I've never fought a Dragon before," he said, clearing it all away. Finally he pulled out a ratty golf bag with a few things in it that looked nothing like clubs. "But I know someone who has."

About an hour later, we pulled up to what was probably the closest thing I'd ever seen to a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. In the drifting snow sat a Victorian-style two-story house with red trim, a porch, lots of windows, and a white picket fence. The driveway and sidewalk were clear, despite the three feet of snow that had come down since the afternoon. It was practically picturesque. Even though it looked as though no one was at home, I had a strange sense of calm and assurance. Like peace.

Dresden unbuckled his seatbelt and pulled the golf bag out of the backseat. "What's the plan?" I asked.

He looked at me for a moment, thinking. "I think maybe I should go in alone" he said.

"Why?" I asked, looking at the house. "Is he old-school?"

"Very," he replied. "I'm not sure if you'd get past the gate." Dresden stepped out of the car, slung the bag over his shoulder, and stepped through the little gate in the fence and up to the house. He knocked, and whoever was inside let him in.

I've got to admit, I've always been the curious type. Not the stupid-curious type that runs headlong into a trap and wakes up a monster from the Old World. But just... curious. I stepped out of the car and walked along outside the gate, trying to look as casual as possible. I had my fedora back on, and my big hand was back in my duffel bag. I looked the house up and down from as far down the street as I dared, and walked down in the other direction to do the same. The big backyard matched the big front yard, and it looked like there'd been an addition to the house near the back. I knew old when I saw it, and that wasn't. But whoever had built it was a damn good carpenter.

I noticed that as I cased the building, that little aura of peace followed me. But as I stepped across the street to stretch my legs, it began to fade. Walking back to the car, I felt it again. It was weird. Not something I'd ever really felt before. It was too passive to be a siren song, but too noticeable to be a veiling enchantment. It was almost like... radiation.

Dresden had said I wouldn't be able to get past the fence, so I walked up to it. It definitely felt stronger as I approached the little gate. It felt... heavy, almost. Like trying to move through chest-high water. But it still had that feeling of calm. I put my hand up and reached for the gate. But in the back of my mind and the pit of my gut, a little feeling told me not to touch it, to leave there and never come back.

I didn't listen. I put my hand on the gate. And suddenly everything felt a thousand times heavier. My legs shook, and a tingling went up and down my body, like everything was going numb. But in my mind, it still felt like everything was okay, and peaceful. Like I was drowning.

With a lot of effort, I took my hand off the fence and leaned back against the Beetle, which rocked slightly against me. The weight disappeared immediately, but the tingling faded slowly and the feeling remained. I looked down at my hand and noticed steam rising from it. I looked back up at the house, and searched the dark sky around it. "Definitely old-school." I said aloud to the snowy night.

* * *

It was Charity who had let me into the dark house. All the kids would have gone to bed by now, so we gave each other a silent nod. Her eyes flicked over the bag on my shoulder, and nodded glumly. "He's in the living room" she whispered, closing the door. I nodded again, and she disappeared into the kitchen, where I saw a candle and a mug.

I saw Michael sitting in his wheelchair in the living room, looking over Molly in the dull light from the snow and streetlights outside the big bay window. They had given her plenty of blankets and pillows, and she definitely looked better.

"We didn't want to chance moving her," he said without looking at me. "She hasn't opened her eyes all day. But she's been sleeping peacefully these past few hours." I set the bag down quietly against the couch and stood beside my old friend. He had his hands folded and his eyes down. "It reminds me of when she was younger, when she'd get sick with the flu. She'd lie on the couch so she could be near us. And when she finally passed out and her fever broke, I'd carry her back up to her room." I saw him shake a little bit, and knelt down beside him, putting an arm on his back. "I miss being able to lift my little girl, Harry," he said, a sob breaking into his voice.

A bolt of guilt shot through me as I looked at my friend Michael Carpenter, the cold, steely glint of his wheelchair stabbing at my eyes. "Michael, I..." I started.

He put a hand on mine. "I miss being able to help her. With her homework, or her... boy problems" he stammered, a smile stretching his face. "But I knew," he continued, "I knew that someday this would happen. I knew that one day she'd have problems that her father couldn't shield her from. But I accept that. Because I know you can help her, and that you will. And you have." He clapped his hand on mine. "I don't know how to thank you, Harry." He pulled me into a hug. And I hugged him back as hard as I could.

"You don't need to thank me, Michael. I owe you plenty. And hey, maybe someday you'll be able to do the same for me" I joked.

"In a heartbeat" he said.

I pulled out of the hug. "Thanks. But I need to talk to you." I nodded over to the golf bag, and Michael nodded gravely.

"Very well," he replied. "We'll talk in the workshop." I let him lead the way to the newest addition on the house, where we've had many an important talk. Sometimes I think he built that thing as much for secret meetings as he did as a place to keep all of his carpentry equipment.

I closed the door behind us, and Michael turned to face me. I laid the golf bag on the floor between us. He breathed, preparing himself. "Okay, Harry. What's going on?" he finally asked.

I looked back at him, sighing. I didn't know exactly how to put it. "I know what happened this morning." His eyes narrowed with concern. "I think a Dragon has come to Chicago. And I think it's using some poor guy as a meatsuit."

Michael's expression turned grave. "I see. Dragons have been known to make contracts and other deals with mortals. We... fascinate them," Michael sneered. "Though they are not always the bargaining type. You believe that what happened to Molly this morning was caused by this Dragon?"

I nodded. "I think it was like a long-range tracking spell, trying to find anyone of magical talent so that it could hitch a ride."

Michael leaned forward in his chair, bending over his hands. "And you believe that the swords are the best chance of defeating it."

I nodded. "Well, you're the only person I know who's ever dealt with one." Michael didn't say or do anything for a few long seconds. "I'd never ask you to take up the sword again," I added. "Not after what happened. But I have another candidate. And I... I wanted your blessing."

Michael finally sat up. "Harry, God has entrusted you with these swords. If you believe that this person is righteous enough to wield a Sword of the Cross, then you need look no further. I am not your superior."

I turned in place, running my hands over my face. "I know, I know. But Michael... god's game seems like a sadistic game you play with a curious kid. And I don't want to take the chance that I'm sticking a fork into an outlet. Not with this." I sat down on one of the chairs in the office. "You know what these things are capable of."

He nodded solemnly. "I do." He wheeled his way over to me and put an arm on my shoulder. "But I trust your judgment, Harry. Not because of happenstance or destiny, or anything you can call it. I trust you simply because you've always tried to do what's right. To err is to be human. And you've... erred quite a bit. But your mind and your heart are always in the right place. It's with the ones you love, and with the greater good. And though I don't always agree with your methods, you have never given me reason to doubt or mistrust you."

Now it was my turn to put my hand on his. "Thanks, man. It... it means a lot to me." He patted my back. "But it's a bit more complicated than just my judgment."

Michael looked at me, puzzled.

* * *

I stood leaning against the car, looking away from the house. I'd suddenly remembered how those faeries had attacked me and Abe, and figured Dresden and I were overdue for our own little invasion. So I stood as lookout, staring into the darkness where the streetlights didn't quite reach.

At the very edge of my hearing, I heard the door to the house come open. I turned to see Dresden standing in the light of the porch. He was waving to me. At first I thought about refusing to go, or calling to tell him I couldn't. But that same feeling of ease seemed to call me in, too. I approached the gate slowly. The weight I'd felt before was still there. Or rather, it was there but not. Like Dresden had somehow parted the Red Sea for me. I touched the gate and didn't collapse, so I closed it behind me and walked along the little walkway up to the front door.

Dresden stood on the doorstep, and just inside the door was a man in a wheelchair. He had short-but-shaggy hair, mostly black but with bits of gray here and there, especially in his beard. "Watermelon, I want you to meet my friend Michael Carpenter," Dresden said, gesturing just inside the door. "Michael, this is him."

The guy reached out his right hand to shake, and his eyes grew three sizes as I lifted mine. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Carpenter" I said.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

I wasn't shocked when Michael asked to see me in the workshop again. And the big guy didn't seem surprised when I asked him to wait on the porch for a bit.

"Harry," Michael said patiently as he whirled around in his chair. "Is that a... a demon?"

I put my hands in my duster and kicked at a chunk of leftover wood on the floor. "I think so."

"You think so?!" he replied. At this point I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic, or outraged that I didn't know for certain. "After all I just said, you... you bring a DEMON to my doorstep? God's Blood, Harry!"

I winced at Michael's closest thing to a curse word. The last thing I wanted was for Charity to hear. "I know. I know how crazy it sounds. Trust me, I wasn't thrilled when he showed up at my apartment, either. But I've been working with him almost all day. And he seems..."

"He seems what?" he asked.

I looked into Michael's eyes. "He feels human." Michael just looked at me, perplexed. "He met Karrin already," I added. "Mouse too. Trust me, Michael. I wouldn't have brought this guy here if I didn't think he could help."

Michael just sat in his chair, brow furrowed and eyes wandering to the ceiling. "I just, I..." he sputtered. But after a moment, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He took a deep breath and laced his fingers in front of his face, speaking softly into them. I turned around to give him a moment, and did a little praying of my own.

I heard Michael sigh deeply again after a few moments, and turned back to him. "Call waiting, or leave a message?" I asked.

He smiled at the comment. "Actually, I think he's just getting back to me from earlier. I believe that God works through all of us. Even you, Harry. You've never let me down. So I trust you."

"So, you'll meet him?"

"If you trust him Harry, that's all I need," he said evasively.

"I do trust him" I said, frustrated. "It's just..." I paused and saw Michael watching me, patiently looking me in the eyes. It was one of the first things he'd done when we met. Michael Carpenter was one of the few people on earth that I'd soulgazed, and one of the fewer people that could still look me in the eyes. And when he looked at me like that, it gave me hope for myself. It let me know that I was still on the straight-and-narrow, even as crazy as the road often gets. If anyone, Michael was my saint."The last time I made a judgment on one of those things, Shiro died. And the time before that, we almost lost Amoracchius."

"Temporarily losing the sword led us to saving Ms. Rodriguez" Michael added.

"Yeah, and saving her led to starting a war with the entire Red Court!" I heart a light _tink!_ As the lightbulb above us suddenly blew. I sighed, trying to keep a hold of myself in the sudden darkness. "I just... I want to _know_ that I'm making the right call, here."

I waited for Michael's reply, there in the dark. I imagined him nodding. "Life is full of uncertainty. But if it will help, I will meet him."

"Thanks." I said. "And if things go well" I added, "think I could take you up on that breakfast? I'm starving."

Even in the dark, Michael's laugh was warm and comforting. "Agreed. But just one thing." He paused, and I heard the minute squeak of his wheelchair pulled up beside me. "Please change that bulb."

* * *

I sat out on Mr. Carpenter's porch in one of the wooden chairs, trying to get a little sleep while I waited. The jetlag was still killing me. But the whole time I had this horrible pins-and-needles feeling. Dresden never told me what was in that golf bag, but I guess it had something to do with this guy, who I guess used to be a Dragon slayer. The middle of Chicago would be the last place I'd think a retired warrior of God would settle. But then again, Lake Michigan wouldn't be the first place I'd expect a Dragon to show up, either.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I sat bolt upright in the chair to find Dresden standing next to me and Mr. Carpenter sitting across from me. "Good evening" he said.

"Good evening" I replied cautiously.

"I apologize for earlier. To be honest, I'm not sure how to proceed here. Harry's usually the talker" Carpenter remarked. "But as I understand it, we're in a bit of a crisis. A Dragon has come to Chicago?"

I nodded. "Dresden here says you're the expert."

Carpenter didn't look like the grizzled veteran I imagined. But he definitely took the work seriously. "I'm no expert. Dragons have existed since the first dawn. But I have defeated one before. And as far as I know, there is only one way to do it. Harry."

Carpenter motioned and Dresden set the golf bag down between us. Carpenter pulled off one of the cheap little fuzzy covers, and pulled out an enormous sword. Five feet long with a simple, gold handle, and room enough for two-handed use. The blade seemed to glow faintly blue in his hand. He held the hilt to his face, like he was paying respects to an old friend. "This is Amoracchius: the sword of love." He laid the sword across the arms of his wheelchair. "It was forged from one of the three nails used to crucify Jesus Christ. And with it, I have achieved much good, and fought much evil. It was with this sword that I fought and killed the Dragon Siriothrax in order to save a young maiden."

"Don't suppose you'll be coming along, though" I said.

He shook his head gravely. "No. But Harry has been entrusted with this sword as keeper, until a proper wielder can be found. And he believes that you might be that wielder."

I gave Dresden a look. "I'm flattered. And it wouldn't be my first magic sword. But I'm not sure I'm your guy. I mean, if I look like a holy warrior, I must own some pretty screwed up mirrors."

"Perhaps." Carpenter added. "But God works in mysterious ways." He picked the sword up, holding an end in each hand, and offered it to me. "Touch it."

I looked at the sword, and then over to Dresden. "You sure this is the only way?"

He nodded glumly. I sighed. Slowly, I reached for the handle with my left hand, placing my right hand under the tip of the blade. I was waiting for that weight to appear again and drop me, but it didn't. Finally I took hold of the handle. I felt the cold metal, and the power thrumming inside. But as Mr. Carpenter pulled his hands away, I felt the power fade. The blue light winked out, and the sword felt like nothing more than a hunk of steel in my hand.

Carpenter's eyes fell, and Dresden's head was in his hand. I assumed that was a bad thing. "Well," I said, "at least it didn't literally hurt to try." Dresden growled and walked away, kicking at snow and cursing under his breath, around the house to the backyard.

Carpenter's lip curled into a little smile. "There is that. But tell me, Mister..."

"Hellboy" I offered.

Carpenter's lips thinned, but he continued. "Mr. Hellboy. Have you ever been in love?"

I thought about that for a minute, looking out into the dark sky. The snow seemed to drift right out of the darkness to become little creatures of light. Story of my life.

"No" I replied, somewhat ashamed. When your job requires you to stay away from normal people unless you're killing a monster that's trying to eat them, you don't go out on many dates. And despite what _some_ people think, Liz and I never got into anything. There was a mutual respect between us that didn't really allow for that sort of thing.

Carpenter nodded. "Love is a powerful feeling. You can do great things with it. And as you said, the sword did not burn you. So I do not believe that being a demon is what prevents you from wielding the sword. Rather, it is because it does not sense overwhelming love within you."

I sighed. "Figures."

* * *

I stood there in Michael's backyard, pacing for the longest time. And by pacing, I mean walking in circles muttering every four-letter word in my vocabulary. Why would Mab bring me here just for a dead end? The Faerie Queens are powerful beings, but I guess they're not known for their foresight. After all, their little popsicle melted. And now I had to clean up the mess.

I'd looked at all the clues, considered every avenue, and it all led me back to this spot; coming up with new ways to string curse words together in the snow. Thankfully Michael never left his toys outside, and had taught his children the same.

After maybe ten minutes of fuming, Watermelon came into the backyard, hooved feet pressing into the snow. "Sorry," he said.

"Not your fault" I muttered. I scratched the back of my head and leaned back against the house, breathing. "Thanks. For back at my place."

"No problem. Everybody needs a little restoration of faith sometime. We'll find a way to beat this thing." We were both silent for a few minutes, breathing steam into the winter air. "Pardon me for asking, but couldn't you use the sword?"

I laughed dryly. "The last time I used Amoracchius, I nearly broke it. Somehow I think it would find me wanting, too."

"Just a thought" Watermelon shrugged.

I put the horrible memory out of my head. Instead, I realized that the sky hadn't changed since I'd gotten back to my place from the Brady house. Time was slipping away. I headed back around the house the way I'd come. "Guess we've got work to do, then."

First thing I did was probably the most dangerous: convincing Charity to let Watermelon in the house. Michael calmed and assured her, but it still clearly worked on her nerves. After a few minutes we got everyone settled down for coffee. I had Michael bring out a map of Chicago and set up a nice little tracking spell. I rubbed the dragonfire ash on to the brush I'd borrowed from Mrs. Brady, letting it mix with Mr. Brady's hair and dandruff. It confirmed what I'd feared: Mr. Brady was no longer in the city. He was back out on the lake. And while Michael said he didn't have any maps of the lake, I knew someone that did.

The first call I made was to Father Forthill. He was our resident holyman in Chicago, and was in the loop with the Knights of the Cross, and the other supernatural goings-on. I asked if he had anything on Dragons. He said it was unlikely, but that he'd look. Better than nothing. I thanked him and hung up.

Next, I called Murphy. Being a police officer meant that you had access to some pretty heavy artillery. And if you're of a mind, you bring some home with you. And I'd always known Murph as the type to be prepared. I think _The Lion King_ was actually her favorite Disney movie.

Will and Georgia were next on the list. I told them what the gameplan was. Of course, Will insisted on coming along. But I needed him here in the city in case something happened. He gave a weak complaint about being on guard duty, but agreed and wished me luck.

I made one final call downtown to the higher-end apartments in the city, and arranged a meeting for our transport.

When I came back, Charity had managed to whip us up some scrambled eggs and toast to go with our coffee. As I sat down to eat, I saw Watermelon's arms lean out to Michael beside me, and Charity on the other end. We all gave him a quizzical look. And by that, I mean the egg dropped right out of my mouth.

"What?" he said. "I thought you folks would do this."

"Well, we do, but..." Charity began.

"It does seem like an appropriate time," Michael commented. Charity shot him a look, but found only a simple smile.

They all turned to me, as I tried my luck on a sausage link. I put down my fork and wiped my hands on my jeans. "Sure, why not." We all joined hands and closed our eyes. And to our further amazement, the big guy said the prayer in Latin. I had my eyes closed, I swear, but I thought I saw the lights flash blue for a second.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

When we'd all finished our meal and washed the plates as quietly as we could, I heard a knock at the door. Michael answered it. "Ah, Karrin. Please come in."

"Thank you." Murph came through the door with a huge gym bag, just like the one Watermelon had worn over his big hand. He'd gone down the hall to the bathroom, and Michael and Charity went out into the living room to watch Molly. It was just me and her.

"So... Dragon, huh?" she said. We all nodded gravely. She nodded in return, looking at the floor. "All right" she breathed. She hefted the bag on to the table and laid it lengthwise. She unzipped the bag and unceremoniously pulled out the biggest gun I'd ever seen. It looked like a .44 Magnum did the nasty with a bazooka.

"This," she said, holding it up to the light, "is a Milkor MGL. Multiple Grenade Launcher. It fires a forty millimeter grenade up to four-hundred yards at about three shots per-second if you set it to rapid-fire." I gave her a blank look, still sort of marveling over the gun itself. She gave me a blank look back. "Big gun fire big bullets. Big bullets go boom."

"Gotcha" I said.

She held it out to me to get a feel for it. "The shells go slow, but I figure a Dragon won't be a hard target to hit. And it packs a helluva wallop."

"Thanks, Murph. Hope we won't have to use it."

"Yeah. But listen here, Double-O-Seven: You bring this thing back, and in one piece, or I'll take it out of your ass."

"Oh Q, you have such a way with words," I replied in a posh English accent, looking down the sight. It must have weighed like ten pounds empty. And those shells were probably pretty big. I should probably let the big guy handle it, I thought.

I looked over at Karrin, noticing she'd been standing there quiet for a few minutes. She gave me a hard look. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" There was a certain tenderness in her voice that I'd only heard a few times before.

"Yeah. I think so."

"Listen, Harry... I know what we said before, and nothing's changed. But I..."

I held up a hand. "It's alright, Murph. I know." I put the hand around one of hers and squeezed, shooting her a smile. "It's okay. We're big manly men, we can handle ourselves."

She shot me a snide smile. "Just don't do anything stupid, you lousy nerf-herder."

I posed with the gun, taking on an epic stance and another epic accent. "Look to my coming at dawn of... tomorrow. When the sun rises, look to the North."

Karrin leaned on the kitchen table. "I give up. The one time I make a _Star Wars_ joke, you counter with _Lord of the Rings_."

"Sorry. I've been re-reading them lately. But thanks." I took as long a look at her baby-blues as I thought was safe.

She smiled, and punched me lightly in the gut. "Jerk."

It was then that Watermelon finally came back from the bathroom. His first response was to whistle. "Nice hardware." Murph and I straightened up.

"Damn right" she said. "You know how to use it?"

The big guy took the gun from me and hefted it, looked down the site, and pressed some kind of button that caused the whole thing to slide in half. At first I thought he'd broken it, but it looked just like the way a revolver reloaded. He snapped the mechanism shut again. "I think I can handle it."

I whined, folding my arms. "I never get any of the cool toys."

Murph kicked me lightly in the shin. "Shut up, Dresden." I dropped down and rubbed my shin, looking sour. "So what else are you guys waiting on?"

I checked the kitchen clock. It was getting pretty late into the night. "A call from Father Forthill. He said he'd check his library for any information we could use. But we can't wait all night. I'll give him a call back." I headed out of the room into the hallway where the wall-mounted phone sat.

But before I could call, Michael squeaked up behind me. "Harry, may I speak with you?" I quirked up an eyebrow and followed him into the living room.

* * *

While Dresden was in the other room, I saw Sergeant Murphy yawn. I didn't think she was coming with us, so I offered to walk her out to her car. She laughed. "Why not. When's the next time I'll have a demon escort?"

We walked slowly down the perfectly-shoveled walkway. The sense of parted-red-sea was gone now, strangely. Truth be told, I wanted to get a good sniff outside. Make sure there weren't any wyldfae, or something worse, waiting for us. "Thanks for the high-caliber contribution, Sergeant Murphy."

She nodded. "Everybody's got something to bring to the party. Just wish I could be tagging along."

"Why don't you?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation rolling. "I know how to use a grenade launcher, but it's always nice to have another set of hands."

Murphy chuckled. "Dresden pulls so many excuses from so far up his ass I'm afraid he might start pulling teeth. It's either the human thing, the chivalry thing, the 'last-line-of-defense' bit, or..." She stopped mid-sentence. At first I looked all around, thinking she'd seen something, but she hadn't. She just stood there, quiet in the snow for a bit. She shook her head. "Anyway, we've been in tougher spots. I'm sure you two will do fine.

"Sometimes all it takes is a little faith" I said.

"I'm Catholic. Don't talk to me about faith" she ribbed as we pushed through the little gate to her car.

"Nah, I'm not talking about faith in god. Not really" I said. She paused as she opened her car door and looked at me. "I've been around long enough to have figured out there is a god. I mean, look at this place." I lifted my arms and gestured to Michael's house. "But I've also been in the fire enough times to know that you can't sit and wait for the cook to pull your butt out of the oven. You've got to fight your way out. And if you fight hard enough, and for the right reasons, you'll make it. It's not about faith in god, per-say. It's about faith in yourself, and I strength, I guess he, gives you. Everything else don't mean squat."

Sergeant Murphy looked at me pensively. "It's not technically sacrilege, so I don't have to smite you, big guy," she said. "But I like the way you think. You and Dresden could get an apartment together." She slid into her car and turned over the engine. "Bring him back in one piece, will ya?" I did a two-fingered salute with my big hand as she rolled up her window and drove off into the night.

It was then that Dresden came out of the house, carrying Murphy's great big bag. He twisted a little knob on the hood of the Beetle and opened it up. He dropped the gun in there with the other bag we'd taken from Dresden's apartment and closed up, climbing into the car. I got in beside him, and the engine gave a little cough as it started up, taking us away down the road.

Apparently there was nothing in the ol' Holy library about real-life Dragons. It didn't surprise me. Suckers were old. Maybe somewhere buried in the Vatican there were a few vague references, but I doubted even the Bureau had much on them. And without that magic sword, we didn't have an Ace in the hole. But I'd come through tough scrapes before. Most of the time, all these magical monsters are a lot less durable than you'd think.

We rode in silence for a little ways. The roads were snow-bound, but still driveable. We passed a few plows, and the snow was slowing down to a crawl. "You use magic at all?" Dresden asked.

"Not really," I replied. "The occasional Latin, a potion here and there. Nothing big." I rubbed my stone fingers together. This time I'd put the thing on my lap, beneath my left hand. "I was pretty much the tank when I worked with the Bureau."

"You don't work with them anymore? I thought that guy was with you."

I put my hand up, pinching my thumb and middle finger together. "Every time I think I'm out, they pull me back in." Dresden chuckled at the impression. "Why?" I asked.

He sighed. "Sometimes I think it just doesn't pay to have magic." I gave him a look. "Seriously!" he replied. "Magic is cool for scaring regular crooks, and solving mildly-magical crimes. But most of the time, I'm going toe-to-toe with something like a faerie, or some super-monster that eats, sleeps, and breathes freaking magic. If I throw a fire spell at a faerie, they'd probably throw it back at me with twice the strength. I mean, I'm no pushover when it comes to other wizards, but to be completely honest, I get by on luck, good friends, and quick reflexes."

I winced. Made me a little uneasy just how much of a downer this guy could be. "Well, it's always been enough, right?" He quirked an eye at me. "I mean, you're still here. Nobody's taken a bite out of you yet, as far as I can see. You're still kickin', so you must be doing something right."

He nodded. "That's pretty much all that keeps me going. I talk a lot of big talk. But the truth is... I do it because I can! Yeah, I'm just a mortal wizard; I can't take a bullet or a sword the way you probably can. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let that stop me. I fought this ghost a while back. It was a wizard's ghost gone poltergeist. You know how I beat him?" I shook my head, grinning. "I didn't. I let him kill me, then I double-teamed him with my own freaking ghost."

I chuckled. "So you really are the king of the hill in Chicago" I said.

"Damn straight."

"So why are we even talking about this?"

He shrugged. "Radio's broken. And I don't hear you coming up with anything."

I shook my head, turning to look out the window at the approaching harbor. "Anyone ever tell you you're a basketcase, Dresden?"

"Plenty of times. Anyone ever tell you you smell like dry-roasted peanuts?" I blinked. Nobody ever had, actually. I turned back to him, and he nodded. "May as well give you a cane, a monocle, and a top hat."

Dresden pulled the car to a stop and killed the engine with another loud cough. We both stepped out, and he retrieved the bags from the trunk. "Alright, let's go" he said, leading the way along the dock. It looked like a Walmart parking lot for boats, and was probably even trickier to get out of. Land on either side with only one way in or out. There were quite a few boats tied there despite the season. Lot of locals, I guessed. I just assumed Dresden knew where he was going.

He did. And looking back and what I already knew about the guy, I shouldn't have been surprised at what we found. It was an old-fashioned fishing trawler, like the one from _Jaws_, only without the psychotic war vet or exploding barrels. At first I was going to ask if he was sure this was it, but then I caught sight of the only fresh paint on the whole darn thing, the name: Water Beetle. I sighed, heaving out a great big cloud of steam.

"Anybody home?" Dresden called.

As I took a deep breath to yawn, I smelled something. Something outside the rank odor of fish and motor oil. Something supernatural. It was thick like cloves, sweet and sharp like burning roses, and strong like animal pheromones. My eyes darted to the deck as something walked into the port lights. It was a guy with black curly hair and tight-fitting clothes. Even the jacket, which was too light for the middle of December, seemed to fit him tightly. His skin put the snow in the air to shame, and the way he moved across the deck reminded me of predator. "He isn't human" I cautioned, looking at Dresden.

"Look who's talking" the guy snapped back.

Dresden sighed, apparently exasperated. "Thomas, this is Watermelon. Watermelon, Thomas. Nobody's human, nobody's evil. This is like the third time I've done this today."

Thomas's body language changed in an instant. "Watermelon, huh?" He looked me up and down. "Well it'd be easier to trust your new friends if you ever made any, little brother."

The two stepped forward and hugged briefly. It took me a few seconds, but I could see it. The dark hair, the sharp features. Both fairly tall. Thomas was probably the arrogant self-loathing type, too. He'd have to be if he was on good terms with Dresden. His glamors didn't work on me. I could see the demon inside him. It was caged, but pacing, waiting. I didn't know if Dresden could see it or not, but I held my tongue.

"Did you get everything I asked for?" Dresden said.

"Yeah" Thomas replied. "It's all in there. But I can't go with you."

Dresden stepped back. "Why not?"

Thomas withdrew into himself. "Family matters."

"Seriously?" Dresden spat. "Has Lara got something going on bigger than a Dragon ready to burn Chicago to the ground?"

Thomas just stared. "You know me, Harry. You're my little brother. I wouldn't call out on this if it wasn't important." Thomas returned the shoulder chuck. "Or if I didn't think you could handle it alone. Trust me, if this thing was as big a deal as Mr. Ferro, we wouldn't be standing here talking about it." Thomas pulled another pair of keys out of his pocket. "But I've really got to go. Good luck, Harry." The two hugged again, a little deeper.

"We're going to talk about this when I get back," Harry chided.

Thomas smiled. "I'm sure I'll think of something." He gave me another look as he stepped by me. "Nice meetin' ya" he said warily.

"Same" I nodded. I watched him walk all the way down to the end of the pier, until I was sure he couldn't hear. "You know he's a vampire, right?"

Dresden climbed aboard the Water Beetle and dropped both bags. "Yep."

"And that he's feeding. Pretty regularly." I stepped on to the deck.

Dresden didn't flinch as heclimbed up to the helm. "Thomas is my brother, and a good guy. I don't like the way he lives, but I trust him not to hurt anyone."

I shrugged. Fair enough. If a Knight of the Cross could vouch for Harry, and Harry could vouch for the vampire, it was good enough for me.

After he'd checked the instruments, Dresden went down into the hold. He came back up with a pair of maps. First, he unrolled one that looked like a map of cities around the lake, with little red dots all over. He pulled a piece of chalk from his duster pocket and drew a circle around himself and the map, closing it. Next he pulled out the ash-covered brush and tied it to a string. I gave him a minute of silence, and sure enough the brush pointed toward the lake portion of the map.

Dresden broke the circle and repeated the process with the second map; one of Lake Michigan itself. It had a few markings on it that I didn't recognize, but I kept quiet for the spell. It pointed almost dead-center into the lake, at the deepest part closest to the Southern end. It looked like the same spot Abe and I had gone to earlier. "Well, we know he's still on the lake" Dresden said, breaking the circle. "You know how to drive a boat?"

I looked up at the helm. Pretty standard. "I guess."

Dresden nodded. "Alright. I'm going to need you to steer so I can use the tracking spell and point us in the right direction."

"Sounds like a plan." Dresden nodded, and I followed him up the ladder to the helm. He climbed over control panel to the bow, finding a flat spot to set up another circle. I got the engine running. It coughed a little, like the Blue Beetle, but it had plenty of power. Which is why I ripped the mooring line off the boat and immediately backed into another boat. I recovered from the impact to see Dresden holding on to the guideline at the bow for dear life. I leaped forward and hauled him up. "Oops."

"Alright" he said, dusting himself off. "Maybe I should get us out of the harbor."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

My skills at the helm were still a little rusty. I forgot to undo the tow-line, and I almost hit a few boats on the way out. But once we'd left the harbor, I handed the wheel off to Watermelon.

We were out on the lake for a long time. My duster had plenty of enchantments on it, but none of them kept out the cold. I probably should have thought about that. I can take a bullet, but it's climate change that could kill me. Thankfully Thomas had left some snow gear below deck. I helped myself, but the big guy didn't seem too put-off by the weather. Every breath came out a great big steam cloud, but he just buttoned up his trenchcoat.

Thankfully the snow had slowed down to a crawl. The lake was calm, and the wind wasn't too bad. All I could hear was the chug of the Water Beetle's engine. The lights on the boat didn't help us see very far, but I didn't think there'd be any fisherman out at this time of night. I only needed it to see my spell, anyway. And for that it worked just fine. I'd basically turned the brush into a compass and was following its pull along the lake, giving Watermelon direction from the bow when I could.

It must have been three in the morning before we finally found the Charleston. And no wonder, it wasn't anchored. I had probably floated out in the middle of the lake all day. Watermelon pulled up beside the boat, and I tied a line to one of the cleats.

You know how when the heroes find the villain's lair, it's always dark, dank, and covered with slime, cobwebs, blood, and other stuff? This wasn't that. And it was probably freakier that way. It was a basic fishing boat, kind of like the Water Beetle, only a heck of a lot more maintained. Under the frost that had accrued, you could see how well sanded, varnished, and painted it was. All the visible metal was cleaned and polished. Aside from the ice and fish scattered from a toppled cooler at stern, it looked like a perfectly ordinary boat.

The fish were all long dead, and the spilled ice-water had frozen over them and the deck. I went aboard carefully, but thankfully the wood had absorbed most of the water, so it didn't make an ice rink. I gave the big guy the signal, and we both went to work. Yeah, believe it or not, we'd actually come up with a plan. Go figure.

When a few minutes had passed and there was no Dragon in sight, I went inside the cabin armed with my staff and shield bracelet. I had my gun on my pocket, but I was hoping I wouldn't have to use it.

There was no sound but the occasional creak of the boat floating in the water. No lights but the creeping shadows flowing in from the Water Beetle, and no sound except the occasional creak of the boat floating in the cold water. I whirled when I heard a heavy _thump_ behind me, but it turned out to just be the two boats colliding.

I looked high and low, but unfortunately he wasn't in the cabin. I dreaded having to go below deck. I was having flashbacks to the final scene in _Alien_. But I shook out my shield bracelet, and held my necklace up, pushing a little will into it and producing a kind of pale blue light. I followed it down into the hold.

Just like the deck, the inside of the ship was covered in frost. There was a little chair toppled over near a plaid-clothed table that looked like it had been cut in half. A lantern lay shattered in the ground, oil frozen. He must not have had the engine on since he'd come back out into the lake. Moving further along, I found small scorch marks here and there, blackening the well-kept wood. I wasn't sure if it was the cold, or the calm surround the chaos that gave me chills. But I pushed on.

I began to hear a high-pitched whining sound. I listened, following it to what I guessed to be the bunk room. And inside, I found him. Martin Brady was curled up on the floor in a heap. I couldn't see or hear any breathing except my own, coming out in clouds of steam. "Mr Brady?" I called. No response. "Mr. Martin Brady?" I repeated. As I approached, the whining grew louder, and I thought I could hear a voice or two in it.

"My, my..." grumbled a voice that seemed to shake the whole boat. If the demonic bast furnace in the basement of every creepy middle school had been given a voice, this would be it. "How the world has changed."

I heard the whining sound again, and heard more voices. News stations, conversations, even the police band. It was Brady's radio. I hadn't seen one in the cabin. The creature that had once been Martin Brady rose to its feet. The eyes were dark. But from the darkness came random flashes of fiery light. Dark veins outlined Brady's face, like he was being crushed from pressure. "The world has melted, and the hairless apes have claimed it for their own" he growled. "It's all here, in his head" he motioned with his index and middle fingers.

He took a step toward me and I readied my shield bracelet. "You've even managed to touch the forces of the universe. Impressive." This time when he stepped forward, I stepped back. I couldn't fight him while he was still inside Brady. "Unfortunately, this fellow has scarcely any talent. A small puff of my flame was all he could withstand. But you... you seem much more resilient."

His steps continued, and I began leading him back to the ladder to the deck. "Why did you come into the city?" I asked, trying to keep the dialogue going in directions that didn't scare me.

"I wanted to see this new world for myself. Tall buildings, motor vehicles... the modern world. How beautiful it is. Yet how frail and ugly it is. I opened his eyes to my Sight, and it nearly destroyed him." I slipped my necklace back around my neck as the light from the Water Beetle helped me see. "So much death, betrayal, and despair built into every corner of this city. This world is so much worse than it was. All the more reason."

I had to duck, going up the steps into the cabin. My eyes flicked over to the Water Beetle, where Watermelon should have been waiting. "All the more reason for what?"

Brady's face twisted into a horrible, toothy grin. "For its destruction. This world was a fallacy; a mistake. And I intend to correct it now that I am free. And to think that I had hope, that this world you apes had crafted might be worth saving. I am unimpressed." I finally backed out on to the deck proper, trying to keep my eyes fixed on the monster inside Mr. Brady. "I see it in you as well. You know the horrors of which I speak. You have tried to fight the darkness, and barely survived. Would it not be easier to wipe the slate clean and start anew?"

I backed all the way to the stern. I could feel a pressure on my head, making me wince. It was psychomancy. It must have been. But I'd been trained to deal with it. "I won't say I've never thought about it. You're trying to work psychomancy on me, and a lie would be too easy for you to exploit." Brady's face turned to an amused puzzlement. "Let me lay you down some hard truths. This world does suck. It's full of people ready to seduce, betray, and destroy you just for kicks. But there's hope. For every bad guy out there, there are good people fighting against it. For every monster in the darkness, there's someone waiting to turn on the light. And trust me, when we do, those monsters scatter like roaches."

As I spoke, I could feel the psychomancy breaking down like a faulty damn, and the Dragon seemed to get more and more upset. "Because while those creatures spread pain and fear, things that can hurt us and sometimes destroy us, we spread the one thing that can heal anything: Love. Trust me, I know." I looked down at my pentacle, given to me by my mother. And the white light glowing from my staff reminded me of Michael and Murphy. "If I can be saved, then anyone can. And as long as there are people in this world trying to save it, then there's still hope. And if you want to take a hack at that, then you've gotta come through me, ugly."

The Dragon screamed like a thousand screws grating against each other in a washing machine, and charged at me. I readied my will and waited for just the right second. "You're up, big guy!"

* * *

I popped up from my hiding spot at the helm, grenade launcher in-hand. "Hey, Puff!" The Dragon stopped in it's tracks on the deck and looked over to me. I leveled the barrel at its face. "Prepare to get snuffed."

As soon as the thing had stopped, Dresden reached down to the deck, and I saw a great big flash of light as his circle came to life. The Dragon screamed again as it tried to leave the circle and failed. Dresden left the trash-talk to me. It was probably taking everything he had to hold the circle. "Aw, whatsa matter? Trapped? Again?" The eyes on the thing glowed in the night, outshining the lights on the boat. "Man, you're really bad at this. I thought Dragons were supposed to be the end-all-be-all. But look atcha. You're just a lousy parasite." Smoke started coming out of the guy's mouth. I really, really hoped this would work. "Why don't you show us whatcha really got, you stupid wyrm!"

I've seen a lot of things in my time. I've seen iron snake goddesses, one-legged houses with witches in them, and giant octopus gods from outer space. But I think the Dragon's reaction was the closest thing I'll ever see to an atomic bomb going off. Black smoke exploded out of Brady, glowing and sparking like a thundercloud from Hell. The roar was deafening, and the flash from its contact against Dresden's circle blinded me for a moment. I heard a mighty _crack!_ and when I looked back, it was gone.

The deck of the boat had splintered in a perfect circle within Dresden's spell, and water was rushing into the boat. Brady hung at the edge of the circle, which had apparently broken, slowly being taken by the rushing water. "Crap" I muttered, leaping over the wheelhouse and on to the other boat. I picked Brady up out of the water and laid him down on the Water Beetle's deck. Couldn't tell if he was alive or dead. After all of that, I hoped he was alive. I climbed back over and grabbed Dresden and his staff. He seemed a little groggy. And when I got him to the Water Beetle, I noticed he was bleeding out of his nose. I shook him a little. "Come on man, stay with me." I said.

He replied by naming of the son of god, a long string of curse words, and "that was stupid." I got him up into a sitting position and climbed back up to the helm, hefting the grenade launcher. The wind had picked up considerably. I didn't know whether it was because of the dragon or not, but it didn't help. My trenchcoat flew in the wind, making it hard to turn. The water was getting rocky, and I had to fight to keep my balance. "Come on, come on..." I breathed, squinting into the wind.

Then the thing exploded out of the water, maybe fifty yards away. It must have been twice the size of a bull elephant, all teeth and spikes, with leathery wings and a thorny tail twice that length. It flapped up high and roared, making the instrument panel shake, before it pulled it's wings in and came screaming down out of the sky. I waited until just the right moment, probably too long, and squeezed the trigger. "Smile, you son of a bitch!" Shell after shell blasted from the barrel, exploding in mid-air as it hit the thing. Black smoke and orange flame swirled in the wind, and for a moment, I couldn't see it.

Suddenly its wings flew open, blowing away the smoke. It swooped down with a mighty roar and gripped me in it's claws. It flapped it's wings hard, jerking us upward and making the grenade launcher slip from my hands. "Damn it!" I yelled. It flew us up higher and higher, crushing me in it's claws. I couldn't reach my pistol, so I used the other weapon at hand. I pounded my stone fist on the dragon's claw, aiming for the bones beneath the armory skin. It roared in pain, I hoped, and gave it a few more whacks, this time feeling something crack.

The Dragon craned it's neck down at me, it's mouth all razor teeth and smoke. I thrashed again, aiming for what I took to be it's wrist, and heard another mighty crack. I felt it's grip loosen, and my waist slip free, but the other hand grabbed me around the shoulders. I managed to get a hold of my gun, even as it brought me up to it's mouth. I emptied the clip to no avail, and closed my eyes. But then I heard something over the wind. Something that wasn't quite Latin.

* * *

"_FUEGO!_" I snarled at the top of my lungs. A lance of blue-white flame exploded from the tip of my blasting rod, slamming into the creature above. To my surprise, it actually worked. The Dragon whirled in the sky, and I saw the big guy slip free of it's claws. He came hurtling down to land with a harsh thud back on the cockpit.

The Dragon righted itself a moment later, circling us in the sky. "You _dare_ use the fires of creation against me?!" came that horrible voice. "Man has grown arrogant, indeed! And for this affront, I will burn _everything_! All of the evils in this world, and all of the fools who fight powerlessly against it that you love so much! Witness the end of your world, wizard!" It's words melted into another earsplitting roar, and I fell down to my knees as I watched it fly away.

My vision was spotty, and I could barely hear anything above the whining in my ears. I dropped my blasting rod to the deck and felt my face. My hand came away covered in dark blood. "That's not good" I managed to hear myself say. "Waddermeron!" I garbled. I was out of breath, too. "Get the... e... engine..." At first I couldn't even tell if he'd survived the fall. But suddenly I felt the deck shudder as the engine groaned to life. I laid down on my back on the deck. The big guy gave me a thumbs-up from the upper deck, and I looked up at the sky trying to clear my head. Trying to hold that thing in the circle was like taking a freight train straight to the frontal lobe. And putting a bit of Soulfire into that blast hadn't helped. My legs felt like jelly, and I was scarcely aware of the biting cold from the water.

"I aint got time ta bleed." I muttered the immortal words of Jesse 'The Body' Ventura and hauled my ass up and over to the edge of the boat, looking forward past the bow. Already, the thing was fading into the storm.

"We're not gonna catch it!" Watermelon bellowed over the wind. And for a moment, I realized he was right.

But then a funny thing happened. The storm stopped. The wind, the snow; even the water seemed to calm. But before I could question, a sound like a billion thunderclaps rolled into one exploded over the lake. And a wall of wind and lightning and snow moved in like a curtain in front of the dragon. It reared and roared, trying to flap the storm away with it's wings to no avail. "Hells Bells" I breathed.

I looked up to see a bright light descending from the sky above; blindingly bright and at once warm and cool. "About da-uh... darn time, Uriel" I said.

"Your White God is not quite so direct" came a screeching voice. The light faded, revealing Mab, Grimalkin in-hand. And beside her, clothed in a dress of red-hued flame, was Titania: the Queen of the Summer Court. Holy yin-yangs, Batman.

"It is well that you are injured, wizard" growled Titania. "We have little time for wordplay." Unlike Grimalkin, Titania's voice was low and powerful, yet eloquent and regal. Kinda like Meryl Streep, but without the acting and infinitely more deathly seriousness.

"Quite right, sister" Mab quipped. "Time is of the essence. This beast must not be unleashed this world. For the first time in millenia, my sister and I have agreed to a truce, and appeared here together to give you two this one chance to destroy it."

"What the Hell are we, janitors?!" Watermelon yelled. The Faerie queens of light and darkness turned their gazes on him. "Why don't you clean up your own damn mess?"

While Mab was cool, pardon the pun, Titania's eyes and clothes seemed to smolder, and I could feel blazing heat radiating from her. She floated closer to the big guy. My vision was too blurry to see if he'd flinched or not. "You would do well to curb your words to us, demon. You think yourself fireproof? Were you not attached to that forsaken key, I would boil the blood from your veins."

She pulled away from him to look at us both, still flaming. "Listen well, both of you. We will use our powers to keep Invernax at bay, and shield mortal eyes from his existence. But I have little love left for this world, and even less for either of you. Should you fail, I will correct my sister's mistake. I will burn the creature. And, if need be, this world with it."

Titania extended a hand toward me, and I felt the icy bite of the water melting away, replaced with a warm, comforting tingle. Mab too extended a hand, and I saw a dart of bluish energy fly toward me, hitting my midsection and providing a bracing chill. "Work quickly" came Mab's malk voice. "The dawn comes soon, and our magic will wane." The pair floated high up into the sky, like a star.

Watermelon came down the ladder to the deck. "You alright?" he asked. I looked down to my gut and found only my belt buckle. My bear belt buckle. It glowed with a faintly blue light. I hadn't refilled it in years. I brushed my fingers across it and whispered "_Fortius_." Suddenly, I felt power flow from the buckle. It began in my stomach and flowed out to the bottoms of my feet, the top of my head, and out to every fingertip. Raw power. Pure energy. True magic. It ran through my veins and all the pain and weariness vanished. I got to my feet and picked up my blasting rod. "I am now. Time for Round Two."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

With what seemed like the spring back in his step, Dresden hauled both of the bags out of the cabin. "Where's the big gun?" he asked.

I rubbed the shoulder I'd landed on. "Uh... I dropped it."

"Damn" he muttered.

"What's Plan B?"

"You think I've got a Plan B?" Dresden asked.

I shrugged. "Wouldn't be here if I didn't believe you did."

He grinned wolfishly. "Damn straight" he replied, reaching into the bag. He pulled out what looked like a simple wooden cane and held it out to me. I gripped the end and suddenly felt a rush of raw power. I pulled the thing to me and a sword, glowing bright with blinding blue light, came free of it's scabbard. I looked back up to him. "Fidelacchius," he said. "Amoracchius's brother. For my friend who keeps the faith."

"Oh, yeah." I pulled the blade completely free. It sang in my hand, and I could feel the power running through it like an electric current. It was a katana. I was decent with katanas. "This'll work" I said. "You got a plan for getting me close enough to use it?"

Dresden handed me the scabbard, which I fixed into a loop of my belt, opened up the other bag, producing a long rectangular rug. It looked rough; like it was hand-woven. The browns, reds, and blacks were old and worn, and it had a sort of Middle-Eastern design to it. He laid it out flat and sat down on it, crossing his legs. "Get on" he said.

I grinned. "You're kidding" I said, stepping on to the middle of the rug. I heard him mutter something in Arabic, and felt gravity get a little less lawful. I took a balanced stance as my feet sank just slightly into the rug that no longer had a boat beneath it, leaning slightly toward Dresden's weight. "You made a magic carpet?!" I half-screamed, grinning in the wind.

"Heck no! I ordered this thing from a guy in Bangladesh. I never could get one to work."

"Well let's hope the second time's the charm! We don't have time for a third!"

"Amen!"

With Dresden at the proverbial reigns, we flew across the lake on that magic carpet, closing in on the dragon. Dresden must have been getting a feel for it, because it felt like we were picking up speed as we went. Lightning flashed from the storm front, lighting our way. We followed along the wall of storms toward the Dragon as it tried to break through.. As we came up alongside it, I leaped off the carpet into the air, sword in-hand. Thankfully the Dragon hadn't noticed, and jerked in surprise as I landed on it's thorny back. "Miss me?" I said, slashing at it's wings. It roared in pain as the sword seemed to sear it's flesh.

"Insolent flea!" It bellowed. I held on to one of the ridges on it's back with my right hand as it flew backward, trying to shake me off. I kept swinging at the closest wing, trying to maim it and bring the sucker down. It flipped on to it's back, and nearly tossed me off, but I managed to get the sword turned around in my hand, and stabbed straight through the tough hide, holding on by the protruding handle. It screeched and roared as it twisted and rolled around in the air. I heard Dresden fly by on the carpet, and felt a sudden surge of force that leveled the Dragon out. I took the opportunity to climb it's ridges a bit closer to the neck, and start slashing again.

That's when I felt the spiky tail come up and give me a good lash across the back. I held on to the sword, but my stone hand slipped from the ridge, and I started to fall. Dresden suddenly swooped in, letting me grab the back end of the carpet. I managed to haul myself back on, but now the Dragon was on our tail. "Swing around!" I said, getting to my feet and holding the sword steady. "I always wanted to joust a Dragon."

"And you call me the basket-case!" he said, even as he turned in the air, sending us careening back toward the beast. It's mouth opened wide, and I could see bright fire building in it's throat. Just before we collided, I yelled "Down!" Dresden altered our course to just under the thing, and I ran the edge of the sword up and through it's underbelly, releasing a streak of blue-white flame as it cut into the thing like a light-saber.

* * *

As we passed by and wheeled around, I saw the Dragon falter in the sky, wings flapping weakly as it roared in pain. I'd gotten the hang of the carpet. It handled kind of like a carnival go-kart. "_ENOUGH!_" Came it's low, grinding voice echoing across the lake. It turned back toward us, and seemed to swell. Through the gash Watermelon had left, I could see red and white fire building up in it's body.

"Oh, crap! Dresden?" he called.

"I see it!" I replied. "Fasten your seat-belt!"

"_DIIIIE!_" the Dragon bellowed as it spewed a torrent of flame across the lake, filling the space between us in an instant. I whipped the carpet into going straight up. The lake below us was soon bathed in fire, and the Dragon quickly turned to follow us up.

"You got a plan?!" he yelled over the howling wind. We flew passed the glowing orb that was the two Faerie Queens, into the clouds above.

"Yeah!" I said. "Stay out of the line of fire!" I hazarded a look back, but couldn't see the Dragon. I pushed the carpet to fly faster, trying to get through the clouds as quickly as we could. But as we finally breached the top of the clouds and looked off into the darkness of space, something washed over me. A feeling of dread. I turned, and there on the horizon, were the first rays of sunlight. It's a pretty good deterrent of all things nasty, but that's mainly because dawn is about new beginnings. It's about cleansing the night of all the spells and magics that had come before it. In this case rug enchantments and energy boosts.

I felt the magic wither, both from the carpet and from me, receding back to the buckle. I had to shield my now sensitive eyes from the blinding light, so I didn't see the Dragon coming up from beneath us. I heard Watermelon yell my name vaguely before I felt a wave of heat and a sudden force on my back. I fell. And as I looked up, I saw the big guy on the burning carpet pull something out of the back of his trench coat. I couldn't hear too well now, so I couldn't tell what he said as he threw it down to me. I recognized the shine, and somehow managed to grab the thing by it's handle. Amoracchius.

As it touched my hand, I felt a calm, warming glow inside me. I thought about Michael, my friend who had trusted me so many times. I thought about Molly, my apprentice. I thought about Will and Georgia. I thought about Susan. And I thought about Karrin. Even with my eyes closed, I could see the sword's blue glow.

I opened my eyes and turned over in the sky, seeing the shadow of the Dragon coming toward me, all fire, smoke and fangs. I took the sword in both hands for a downward strike and screamed "Go back to the shadow!" with what little air I had.

The collision knocked the air out of me, but I felt and heard the impact I wanted. Amoracchius had plunged good and deep into the Dragon's throat, and black smoke began issuing from the hole. The Dragon's wings went limp, and I felt the pair of us falling. Falling. We fell back through the cloud cover, passed the glowing forms of Mab and Titania. The Dragon struggled, me sitting on his chest as we plummeted back down to the lake. It tried snapping at me, around the sword. So I grabbed the hilt and pushed it even deeper. The Dragon paused to roar in pain one more time. The last time.

I raised my right hand, power-saving ring ready, and yelled "Forzare!" as I swung downward. All the kinetic energy in the ring combined with my spell in a magical explosion of force, centered on the hilt of Amoracchius. I heard steel cut and grind against bone, and the Dragon went silent and limp in the wind. And with every last bit of energy gone from my body, I too passed out.

* * *

he Dragon had shot a fireball up at us and damn-near roasted the carpet. My coat got pretty scorched, too. Didn't think Dresden would be able to take it, so I'd pushed him out of the way.

I guess there was still a little magic left in that rug, though. I managed to steer the thing down and grab Dresden in the air, and level us out so that we skipped across the water twice before we crashed. I pulled him in tight to me so that I took all the impact. Managed to pull us to the surface just in time for the Dragon to hit the water, causing a huge waving. I rode it as best I could, swimming toward the Water Beetle. Thankfully, it wasn't too far away. It was only slightly charred when I hefted Dresden over the side and on to the deck.

My hand went down and found Fidelacchius still in it's scabbard where I'd put it on our way up. I looked back at the Dragon. Amoracchius was probably lodged it it somewhere. I through my sword on to the deck with Dresden and, with probably more aching muscles than I'd had in a long while, swam back out to the Dragon.

Mister Carpenter and I'd had a talk while Dresden was in the backyard. While I'd never been in love, Dresden had. He'd loved, lost, and kept on loving. The way Mr. Carpenter put it, anyway. Dresden loved Chicago. He loved his friends. And despite what he'd said, he loved this whole big stupid world, no matter how many times it had almost gotten him killed. I thought about that as I swam down to the sinking Dragon. I managed to follow the trail of blood right to the sword, lodged deep in it's neck. The eyes weren't glowing anymore. I wrenched the sword out of the Dragon's neck, and waited. When it didn't come back to life, I swam back to the boat and heaved myself in, ready for a nap.

But that was too much to hope for. By now, the sun had come up. The massive storm created by the two faerie Queens being in the same place had already gone. Snow was coming down again, though lightly. And in the distance I heard a heavy sound. I sat up and looked out. Helicopter. Great. With some effort, I managed to stand up. I waved my big hand back and forth, letting whoever-it-was know we were there. Although, who else could it have been?

As the chopper came in for a landing, I recognized Cole at the controls. "Need a lift?" he called.

I shook my head. "Nope. Could use a tow, though!" He shot me a thumbs-up. "And hey! I called. He held up a hand to show he was listening. "Get a call out to Sergeant Karrin Murphy. She'll want to know we're coming." He gave me another thumbs-up and hovered the chopper just above the boat. He dropped down a heavy steel cable, which I hooked up to the bow. Soon enough, we were making headway across the lake, and back to Chicago.

Sergeant Murphy met us back at the pier, and graciously helped me steer the damn boat back into place. She didn't bother asking any questions. I helped her haul Harry and Mister Brady back to her car, where a skinny guy with dark frizzy hair was waiting. He cringed at my presence, but didn't say anything. I made sure Murphy had all of Dresden's things; the staff, wand-thing (she insisted it was his 'blasting rod'), both of the swords, and the two bags. The carpet didn't make it, and I admitted to losing the grenade launcher. I told her to bill the Bureau, and gave her an action code to file it under. Abe and Liz would take care of it. I left her a piece of paper with Harry Middleton's number on it, and left.

As for me, I was ready for that mattress in London. I looked at the clock as Cole flew me back to the base. It was almost nine in the morning now. I'd been up for... a long damn time. And I wasn't about to get any sleep on the plane. Cole offered to ship me off on a supply freighter with my own storage box. I politely declined. I used the phone on the Bureau's jet to call up Harry Middleton. "Hello" he answered. God, I missed the sound of his voice. Shaky, yet soothing.

"Harry it's me, Hellboy. Go ahead and start up a game of poker." It would probably take me eight or nine hours to get there. Just in time for their usual tea break.

"You got it, sonny" he said. "You fight the good fight over there?"

I looked out the window toward the Windy City. "Yeah" I replied. "And for once, I'm not the only one."

* * *

I woke up in my bed, covered in my warm, heavy blankets. I curled into them, hoping to go back to my dream. But instead of s'mores and snowballs, I remembered balls of fire and leathery wings. I snapped up in my bed, awakening every single sore muscle I'd gathered in the past twenty-four hours. "Now, now" I muttered. "Don't everyone scream at once."I reached back and rubbed my shoulder, thinking over things as I remembered them.

I remembered the carpet. Flying way up to avoid the fire. I saw the sun, and I guess I fell off the carpet. Then he threw me Amoracchius. Where the heck had that come from? It wasn't in the bag with Murphy's big... Murphy's big gun. I slumped back down to the bed. Watermelon said he'd lost the big gun in the lake. Crap. I made a mental note of that for later. I stabbed the Dragon, and... That was it. I thought back a bit further. Titiania had named the Dragon. What was it?

Suddenly a giant ball of gray fur plummeted into my lap, making me sit up on reflex and causing all my muscles to scream again. It was just Mister, my bob-tailed tomcat. I hadn't seen him all day. He must have ambled home while I was away. He stood there regally on my lap, awaiting his ceremonial scratch behind the ears. I obliged him and gave him a quick hug. Sometimes I thought of Mister as my rock. I'd found him, injured when he was just a kitten. He'd recovered, and turned into a great big ambling machine, and he knew it. Mister was real. And I understood him perfectly. He was the only thing I'd ever looked at with my Sight, and seen exactly the same thing. No vapors, no horns or extra eyes; just my cat.

I felt Mister begin to shake and heard his low, growling hiss grow in his mouth. I followed his eyes to the dark corner of my bedroom. "At last, you awaken" came the malk's voice. Mab, in the same garb she'd worn the night before, stepped out into the light. "You did well on the lake. I wanted to be certain my future knight was being properly taken care of."

"I've told you where you can stick that mantle" I said, scratching Mister's belly. He and Grimalkin seemed to be having a staring contest. Mab didn't reply to the quip, so I went on the offensive. "What happened?"

"You slew Invernax, and the demon brought you back to Chicago. The policewoman brought you home. She has stepped out for the moment."

"Invernax?" I said. "This Dragon had a name? Like Ferrovax?"

Mab closed her eyes, and issued a screeching chuckle. "By no means, child. Were Invernax even a fraction of Mr. Ferro, he would not have needed poor Martin Brady, and this world would have perished hours ago."

I cringed at the thought. "So... this wasn't a capital-D Dragon, then?"

Mab shook her head. "No. Mr. Ferro and Siriothrax, who had been slain by your former friend Knight, are amongst the oldest Dragons. They are creatures of the universe. Invernax was but a wyrm, born just before the dawn of man. Like you, he was set upon by darkness, knowing little of the price of power." I scowled at the comparison, still petting Mister. "However," Mab continued, "unlike you, he allowed it to twist and change him. And this world lost a would-be guardian. It was one of my first acts as the Queen of Winter to imprison him, hoping he would recover with time, rather than allow Titania to destroy him and likely this entire area with him."

"So that's why you're so hard-up for me" I said. "You've got a fetish for childhood trauma."

Mab's eyes slitted, and a smiled pulled at one side of her mouth. "I have since refined my methods. Though it is so much easier, and more valuable, when I need not temper the steel myself."

"What about Brady?" I asked.

Mab looked thoughtful. "Oh yes, Invernax's poor host. He is alive. I believe the policewoman took him to an emergency room."

I laid back down, somewhat elated. "Good."

"Indeed. Your bargain was upheld, and you will be paid for your deeds."

I sat up again, this time using the pillows on my back. "And that's why you'll never get me, Mab. Because it's not about the money. It's about the people."

Mab issued another screechy laugh. "My dear wizard. That is exactly how I will get you."

Suddenly I heard my siege door scrape across the floor. "Harry?" It was Murphy.

"Get out" I said under my breath. Mab's eyes slitted, and she stepped backward into the shadows once again. I waited for Mister to stop growling before I assumed she'd left. Murphy came in with a warm washcloth. "Hey Mister" she said, giving the true lord of the house a quick scratch behind the ears. Content, Mister leaped off the bed and out into the living room. Murphy put her hand to my forehead, pushing me fully back on to the bed.

"What's the prognosis?" I asked cheerily.

Murphy took her hand away and sighed. "Congratulations, you're an asshole." She lightly slapped me across the face with a warm wet washrag. I held the thing to my head with a smile. "I had Butters take a look at you, as per usual."

"Anything special?" I asked.

"You had all the symptoms of a concussion, your right arm was popped out of it's socket, and your back looked like one of my punching bags after a bad weekend. Butters said to wear this" she handed me a sling for my arm, and I groaned. "And you're on bedrest for three days. That means no spells, no detective work, and no teaching."

I rigged the stupid sling over my shoulders and slipped my arm into it, covering my eyes with the other hand. "Bet Grasshopper was happy to hear that" I said. "How's she doing?"

"Better than you. She'll be out of bed by tomorrow." Murphy stepped out of the room and returned with a white paper bag, and my telephone with the long cord. She cleared off the random junk from my bedside table with my Mickey Mouse clock on it, and set both down there. She reached into the bag and plopped what I knew to be a Whopper with cheese into my lap. "Here's your food, and here's your phone" she said, pulling her own box of fries out of the bag and sitting beside me on the bed.

"He said you used Amoracchius. Michael's old sword."

I nodded. "Yeah, I did." I felt a little ping of pride in me as I said it, and took a nice big bite out of my burger.

She ate a few of her fries. "Guess all you needed was a little confidence."

"And a lot of desperation" I coughed through the burger. "You know how this stuff works, Murph. It may have worked for me this time. But if you don't believe you're a knight, then you're not." I swallowed. "And I'm definitely not."

"Pfft. Whatever" she said, scarfing down the rest of the fries. She stepped out of the room and headed down the hall toward the door. "I'll be back in a few hours. And by the way, Hellboy left a number for you to call when you woke up."

I stopped eating my Whopper, mid-bite. "Who?"

"The big guy" she said. "You never asked his name?" I sat there, silent and full of meat product. I hadn't. But I didn't want Murphy to know that. "Seeya, Harry" she said, grinding the steel door closed.

"Hellboy... Hellboy... Where do I...?" Suddenly it hit me, and I dropped my burger. I threw back the covers and staggered to my feet, dragging myself toward the trap door. "Bob?" I called as I threw open the trap door to my lab. It was a lot heavier when I was supposed to be on bedrest. "Bob!" I called again. "Where are those comic books?!"


End file.
